It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent
by funsize
Summary: Q. What do you get when the sexy but insane Oliver falls for the beautiful but insane Katie? A. Lime green stalkers, long lost fathers & a plan that's sure to win Katie's heart, if she ever stops shouting long enough to fall for his stupid accent!
1. Prologue

**It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent**

**A/N: Aha! You all have proof that I am a liar! So yes, I said I was sticking to oneshots for the present, but I love Katie and Oliver so much I couldn't help myself. I wanted to do a whole long fic from the start of first-year right til the end of seventh-year (for Wood) but I know with exams coming up I wouldn't have done it justice, so for the present I'll have to be satisfied with this very short fic of Katie's fourth year. But this prologue starts in her first year, just to give background info. I've made this canon with all the HP books so everyone should be in their correct years. **

**Enjoy!****

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**Prologue: The Start of a Grand Adventure**

There are some people in the world who will tell you that it's impossible to feel hatred without love, and vice versa. They say that those emotions are so strong that they must ultimately stem from the same source. To me, that's a load of codswallop. To the best of my knowledge, I'm not conducting a steamy love affair with a couple of brussel sprouts, yet I reckon I hate the stuff about as much as anything else. And there's absolutely nothing I hate about my Mum – I love her to death. Even right now, while she's embarrassing me by squeezing the life out of my lungs, I still love her. I mean, she has a perfectly good reason to be hugging me the way she is. I'm about to start my first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and, although we've been preparing for this since July, it's a little scary for both of us. We're all each other have ever really had, and Mum's especially teary because she thinks this is the start of some phase called 'growing up' and that soon I'll be getting boyfriends and moving out on her. I laughed when she told me that the other day – I'm not even a teenager yet! But Mum said I look uncommonly old for my age and in a few years time I'll be using my wand more to keep the boys off me than for spellwork.

I start to giggle, just picturing an older me jabbing an army of boys who are swarming just to get a glimpse of me, and Mum straightens up, wiping her face hastily with her sleeve.

"Owl me every day," she says with a sniff.

"Mum!"

"Okay, every week then. And try not to break any bones if you insist on flying around on that awful broom of yours."

I grin. Mum hates Quidditch; it's the only thing we really disagree on. Apparently it's all my Dad's fault that I'm any good, and Dad isn't really a welcome subject in our house.

The train starts to make noises as it gets ready to pull out of the station, and Mum pushes me towards it.

"Go! Before I decide I don't want you to," she grins lopsidedly, the one she does when she's trying to hide that she's sad. We share that sad-lopsided-grin trait.

I startle her with a brief hug before jumping, trunk and all, onto the carriage just as the train pulls away.

As the nervous pangs in my stomach settle down, a broad grin engulfs my face. It feels like I'm on the start of some great adventure, and I've always been a sucker for adventure.

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Hogwarts is…wonderfully crazy. From the moving staircases and the Giant Squid to our eccentric Headmaster, there's nothing not to love. Apart from the stupid rule saying that first years aren't allowed to join house Quidditch teams. Not that I was really expecting to get in this year, but it's a stupid rule all the same. My house, Gryffindor, hasn't had the best of luck with Quidditch lately. Hopefully when I make the team that might change. Madam Hooch says I'd make a great Chaser; in our flying lessons I'm still the only one in our class who's managed to score a goal past her and she says I have a good eye for the ball. The Weasley twins, Fred and George (I just call them both 'Twin' because I can't tell them apart) are really the only other Gryffindors in our year who are any good, but Madam Hooch doesn't like them because they're always doing some prank or other in class. We're becoming good friends though – ever since they caught me shoving a toad down some Slytherin's back they've stopped trying to hex me anyway.

The girls in my year are okay, but a little bit, well, _girly _for me. Not that I'm a tom-boy (not _really_), it's just I don't see the need for make-up and hair potions when they haven't even developed boobs yet. I think the girls also think I'm a little weird because of my Crazy Eyes. The rest of me is fairly normal – I have brown hair (my Mum says 'chestnut' sounds less common, but really it's brown), I'm kind of titchy...and I have Crazy Eyes. They're not actually _that _crazy really, it's just my left eye is blue, and my right eye is green. I call them Crazy Eyes, Mum calls them Cupid Eyes. 'Cupid', you ask? She says it's because my Dad had green eyes, whilst hers are blue, and my eyes are from Cupid, who brought them both together. Then again, she only ever says that after she's been too hard at the Firewhiskey. It's the only time she brings Dad up; when she's drunk. She was only seventeen when she had me, fresh out of Hogwarts. My Dad was some Muggle from Scotland who she fell for whilst on holiday there. But when she told him what she was, he fled, leaving her pregnant with his child. Ever since then, it's always just been the two of us, and we're as close as sisters. It's no wonder I was feeling lonely right now. I guess adventures are only really fun when you're sharing them with people you love.

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A/N: Very short I know, but it was meant to be. Reviews anyone?**


	2. Hanging Upside Down With the Captain

**It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent**

**DISCLAIMER: I'm sixteen. I have $36 in my bank account. Do you think I own any of this?**

**A/N: This is short, but I wanted to get something going before school starts again (groans). Let me know what you think! Oh, and it alternates from Katie and Oliver's perspectives in case you don't catch that.**

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**Chapter One: Hanging (Upside-Down) With The Captain**

**_Katie:_**

"KATIE BELL WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" bellows an angry, no, scratch that, _infuriated_ voice from the opposite end of the Quidditch pitch. The infuriated voice belongs to my charming Quidditch captain, Oliver Wood, and the reason he is so infuriated is that it is our first Quidditch training session of the year and I am hanging from the goal hoop by my Quidditch robes, laughing like a maniac.

Does that sound crazy to you? Because really, I'm not insane. The stupid Weasleys just decided that I'd be better use off my broom and hanging on a hoop, because apparently it's boring watching me actually _play _Quidditch.

Uh oh. Wood is racing down the pitch towards me with that manic glint in his eyes he only gets when he's either really angry or really obsessed. It's amazing how I can tell that Manic Look from my upside-down view of the world, isn't it? But no time for that.

"BELL!" Wow, he actually _does _roar.

"Wood," I answer conversationally. One has to be polite in diplomatic crises such as this.

"Why are you hanging from the goal, by your Quidditch robes, _upside-down?" _he asks like the last bit is the most important. Honestly, it's not like you can see my undies or anything. Fred was nice enough to put an Anti-Gravitational Charm on my robes.

"Er, new training techniques?" I hazard.

He seems to be breathing out of his nose like a steam engine. I never noticed how scary people look upside-down…

"How exactly does hanging upside-down relate to Quidditch, Miss Bell?"

"Er, I'm getting a new perspective?"

"…"

I'm on a roll now.

"Well, I'm always seeing things from the same position on the field, and I thought that maybe if I hung upside-down from the goal hoop for a while I'd get a different perspective on what's going on in the game." I give him my most brilliant smile, which must have lost some of its charm with me being upside-down because he's still doing the Steam-Train-Breath.

"Is it working?" he finally asks, using his gruff-macho-I-am-your-captain voice.

I quirk my eyebrows.

And that's how I've found myself, on the first Saturday of October of my fourth year at Hogwarts, hanging upside-down from the Quidditch goals with my captain, Oliver Wood.

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**_Oliver:_**

Katie Bell is full of it. We spent two hours on Saturday morning hanging from a goal hoop because she said it would improve our game. Not that I really actually ever believed her, but she is full of it all the same. Why did I stay there for two hours if she was full of it, you may ask? Two reasons; we were having a great argument about why the Chudley Cannons really sucked, and probably most importantly, Fred and George had nicked our brooms and we weren't about to jump fifty feet to the ground. In the end we were rescued by a smirking Angelina, who said something about wanting to give us 'alone time'. _No _idea what that girl's on about.

That incident was a whole week ago though. Now we're all sitting in the change rooms after a particularly brilliant training session, and Fred and George are at it again.

"We really think, oh captain most magnificent –"

"– That we really do deserve, you know,"

"Just a few hours,"

"Perhaps three,"

"Even four,"

"Well, you know; just a little pre-match celebratory celebration."

"I mean, we are obviously going to whoop Slytherin's butts,"

"But we really need to let our hair down –"

"– So to speak,"

"And the best way for that is with a little help from Barnaby Butterbeer and Freddy Firewhiskey."

"Barnaby Butterbeer?" Angelina asks, scrunching her nose up like she thinks Fred has had one too many 'Freddy Firewhiskey's'.

"Why yes, my Angel-Eyes, do you like the names?"

"I thought Boris was a better one," chimes George.

"ENOUGH!" I roar. Wow, I really do roar.

Everyone stops in mid-action. Harry looks like he's about to pee his pants. I'm not that much of a monster, am I?

"Geez Wood, no need to be such a monster," Katie grumbles.

"That's enough Bell! There will be no _pre-match celebratory celebrations_! If we win, _then _we can celebrate. And Bell, stay behind. You're helping me pack this gear up."

Fred and George wolf-whistle and Angelina goes on (again) about the 'alone time' business. Katie jabs Fred with her wand in his manly bits which makes Angelina start fussing over him. Ah, that's my girl, Katie. I mean, er…right, must pack away Quidditch gear.

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**A/N: REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW**


	3. I Swear, All Those Bludgers

**It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent**

**DISCLAIMER: If I owned Oliver Wood, you can guess that there would be a lot more for me to do than sit at my computer and type up fics about him. **

**A/N: ****I know this is the third chapter I've posted today, so why not make them longer, but I'm trying to get this finished before school begins. So don't complain, just read. Oh, and as pointed out by CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur (I shall call you CAHK from now on :p), the Weasley twins are in the same year as Angelina and Alicia, so they're a year older than Katie. Bit of a blooper there in the Prologue but please forgive me. **

**Thanks to my reviewers, this chapter is dedicated to you :)**

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Chapter 2: I Swear, All Those Bludgers to the Head Are Finally Catching Up With Him**

_**Katie:**_

Damn stupid Astrology. I could be soaking up the last of the autumn sun with the rest of the gang, but nooo, I'm curled up alone in the Common Room scribbling together a dodgy essay that's due tomorrow. Halloween is coming up next weekend and everyone's scared shitless of this Sirius Black guy turning up to kill us all. I dunno, there's a Hogsmeade weekend the same day, but I'm not sure if I really want to go. For a start, that oaf Marcus Flint has been lurking around in the corridors making lewd remarks to me, and I'm worried he might invite me to go with him, or kidnap me and force me to go with him. And Angelina and Alicia will be so wrapped up in the twins (they _refuse _to admit they like them, but I know better) that I'm starting to think it might be a better idea for me to stay here with Harry or something.

Oh God, Oliver Wood approaching. Don't tell me he's scheduled another Quidditch practice for this afternoon?

"Bell."

"Wood."

"…"

"Lamp."

"Huh?" he looks confused.

"Well, it sounded like we were just listing off different objects, so I thought I'd continue." He still looks confused.

"Never mind," I shrug, and continue with my Astronomy essay.

He sits down next to me and twiddles his thumbs. Yep, actually _twiddles_. I've never seen someone really twiddle before –

"I'm bored," he says after a few minutes of twiddling.

Oh really? You could have fooled me there.

"You're a seventh year. Don't you have homework to do?"

That look must mean no.

"Can't you go out and play Quidditch with some of your friends?"

That look must also mean no.

"Can't you hang around with one of your group of fans for the afternoon?"

That look must mean shut the hell up before I hex you into another dimension.

"Or, you could sit here and twiddle your thumbs whilst I write my essay. Good idea," I say, grinning at what a complete fool my captain is. It's a wonder we have any respect left for him. Although he does instil the fear of God in us all with his roaring voice…

"You're not writing anything, Bell."

"I was contemplating."

"Contemplating what exactly?"

Er, how scary your voice is? Perhaps not the best idea to tell him that…

"Next Hogsmeade weekend," I blurt out the first thing that comes to my head. Though why I would be contemplating Hogsmeade with _him _sitting there…oh gosh, I just gave him the wrong impression.

Yep, he's smirking.

"Oh why? Got someone in particular you'd like to go with?"

Ewww. You're my overly-obsessed Quidditch captain.

"Figuring out how to avoid Marcus Flint so he can't ask me actually," I retort.

Wood seems to be clenching his fists. Why is he clenching his fists?

"Flint has been bothering you?"

"Er, no need to worry yourself over it, Wood," I reassure him. What, had he been hired as my personal hit man without me knowing it?

"Right, right," he mutters.

I return to my essay, only to have him interrupt me moments later.

"Well, if you need an excuse, because you won't let me hex him, er, well…you could always say you were going with me."

I press down so hard on the parchment that my quill actually snaps. I stare at him like he's grown three heads, or lost the only one he ever had.

"What?"

"You could just say, I mean, that I asked you first. And I can hang around with you guys, you know, we can discuss er, Quidditch tactics and all that," he finishes excitedly.

Yeah, because a day in Hogsmeade discussing Quidditch tactics is really my idea of fun, Wood. I don't want to be the cause of his mental decay though, so, if it's really that important to him…

"Okay," I answer rather hesitantly.

"Great!" he answers happily. "Great!"

I swear, all those bludgers to the head are finally catching up with him.

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_**Oliver:**_

It's Halloween, and I'm going to Hogsmeade with Katie Bell. Correction; It's Halloween and I am going to Hogsmeade with Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson and the Weasley twins. But I asked Katie Bell to go to Hogsmeade with me. Another correction; I told Katie Bell to use me as an excuse so that she didn't have to go with Marcus Flint. It all adds up to the same thing anyway.

In five minutes, I will be walking to Hogsmeade next to Katie Bell.

Why is that such a big deal?

I don't know. I've walked next to Katie Bell numerous times. I walked next to her when she first joined the team as a second-year, and I was filling her in on the rest of the team. I walked next to her when she was a third year and Quidditch was cancelled because of the Chamber of Secrets, and she told me not to act like such a girl. Hell, I walked next to her last week after making yet another excuse for her to stay behind after Quidditch practice.

Why was this any different?

The answer is, because I've started to realise that _I might be having feelings for Katie Bell._ I know! It's crazy, stupid, crazy and stupid. I _do not_ have feelings for a girl three years younger than me who just happens to be abnormally pretty. Not abnormal in the sense that she has tentacles coming out of her nose, just abnormal in the sense that, well, you know. But it doesn't even matter if she has tentacles or not because she is fourteen. I'm seventeen. That's just wrong. And I'm not even having feelings for her, anyway. What I'm doing is being a concerned, protective captain. Nothing wrong with that.

It's been ten minutes and things are a little awkward. Fred and Angelina are flirting their eyeballs off, as are George and Alicia, and Katie and I are walking in total silence.

"So…" dammit, why did I start to speak when I had nothing to say?

Katie raises an eyebrow in question.

"Er, did Flint accost you about today?" I ask in a brainwave of genius at actually having something to say.

This makes Katie scowl, which although makes her look very pretty (scratch that thought), has the negative effect of making me feel bad for making her feel bad.

"Yes," she said grumpily. "When I told him I was going with you he cracked his knuckles and said to watch out at the next Quidditch match because you were dead meat."

Yikes.

"You actually told him you were going with me?" I ask. Who cares about Flint's death threats? Katie told him she was going with _me._

There's another awkward silence as Katie scuffs her shoes at the entrance to the Three Broomsticks. The other four have already disappeared inside.

"Well, yes, but, you know, it was all just a ruse, right?"

"Of course," I answer a little too quickly.

I'm actually not feeling all that badly disposed towards Flint (despite the death threats) as I sit in the Three Broomsticks chatting to Katie. Without him I wouldn't have had an excuse to be talking to her. Not that I need an excuse. Not that I want to be talking to her that much that I need an excuse. Damn the fact that she's so abnormally pretty.

If I may say so myself, my ingenious idea of the Hogsmeade date (I mean outing) seems to have been a total success. After the Three Broomsticks the twins dragged us all to Zonko's for the better part of the day, until Katie and I ran off (yes, we ran off together! Ahem, pretend I didn't say that) to Honeydukes where I swear she bought out the entire supply of Fizzing Whizzbees, sugar quills and Every Flavour Beans. She would have continued with the toffees, coconut ice and Ice Mice but I told her if she bought another sweet I would kick her off the team because a broomstick would no longer be able to support her weight.

I got a good knee in my manhood for that remark. That was a good ten minutes ago and she still hasn't said a word to me (we've been trudging back to Hogwarts in silence and the awkwardness is kicking in yet again) so I think I'd better make up for it.

"You know, I'd never kick you off the team no matter how fat you got."

Yeowch. She has one stony stare.

"I'd use all my money to buy you a special heavy-duty broomstick that actually looks more like a jumbo jet."

I got a smile out of that one.

"You know, you'd still be just as pretty if you were fat."

She nudges me in the ribs and grins.

"You'd still be pretty even if you _did _have tentacles coming out of your nose."

Yikes. Did I just say that last bit out loud?

Oh God oh God oh God. Now Katie thinks I'm a lunatic.

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**A/N: Tell me what you think :)**


	4. If You Really, Really Like a Girl

**It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent**

**Disclaimer: I'm tired and in an un-creative mood, so make up your own interesting disclaimer along the lines of 'I don't own any of this'.**

**A/N: Yes! Another chapter up! And it's longer than the others too...**

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**Chapter 3: If You Really, Really Like a Girl, Just Ignore It**

_**Katie:**_

The Great Hall looks amazing. There's hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins and live bats (scary huh?) and orange streamers floating across the ceiling. And the food is delicious; I would help myself to thirds but after Wood's comment about me getting fat, I'm restraining. He has been watching me rather closely all night and I _really_ don't want to be kicked off the team. I'm not actually fat am I? He seems a little…crazier than usual. Never mind, I probably just forgot how insane he was over the summer break. He's never mentioned anything about people's weight before, though. Granted, those Chocolate Frogs I scoffed on the Hogwarts Express have given me a bit of a stomach, but nothing so bad that Wood has to ––

"Bell, I'm sorry I have to say this but—"

"No, wait!" I interrupt his obvious speech that he wants me off the house team. "I'm sorry, I swear I won't eat another Chocolate Frog in my life! And I'll throw out everything I bought today, apart from those sugar quills, I really do need them. But, I've only got a little bit of a stomach! Nothing to throw me off the team for! I mean, Alicia's not any better," I glance at Alicia and she's looking at me like a wounded puppy. "Sorry Alicia, I only speak the truth," I'm about to continue but Wood holds up his hands for me to stop.

So what, I don't even get an appeal?

"Katie," (Oh my god he just called me Katie? Yep, definitely off the team, he always calls us team members by our last names. Well, apart from Fred and George, because that would be ridiculous. Oh and he calls Harry 'Harry', but that might be because Potter sounds like 'potty' and he might have some kind of weird phobia of potties. And actually, he calls Angelina and Alicia by their first names; so really, it's only ever been me. Oh god, I was never really part of the team in the first place! Hang on; I thought he was talking to me…)

I look up to find Oliver humming patiently as he taps the table. Whoops. I did the zoning out thing again.

"Sorry," I say meekly. "You were chucking me off the team?"

"For the last time Katie Bell you are not off the Gryffindor team!" he growled at me.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much! I knew you'd understand! I would hug you right now, but you're kind of across the table and that would be a little hard because there's this giant tureen of soup right in the middle of the table and, knowing how clumsy I am…" dammit. I'm babbling again. He's doing the whole humming-whilst-tapping-on-the-table thing.

"Sorry," I apologise again. "You were re-accepting me onto the team?"

Oliver sighs. "You're not fat I didn't say anything about chucking you off the team," he says in a deadpan voice. "You can eat as many Ice Mice and Whizzing Fizzbees as you like. I was just going to say 'I'm sorry I have to say this but Marcus Flint seems to be trying to get your attention'."

Oh.

Right.

I glance surreptitiously towards the Slytherin table and what I see makes me jump, hit my knee on the table, send my potatoes flying into Alicia's plate and scream "Oh sh-indigity do!" in a rather pathetic manner, because I was about to say "Oh (expletive)! " but then I realised Professor McGonagall was eyeing me suspiciously, and I couldn't think of anything else that started with 'sh', so it ended up sounding quite lame.

Anyway, the reason for all those shocked reactions is because Marcus Flint is grinning at me in what he must think is a seductive manner, his hair all greased back, with a baggy lime green t-shirt that reads 'I Heart Katie' on the front, and has a blown-up picture of me on the back. Luckily, my printed self is trying as hard as she can to disappear behind the baggy folds of the t-shirt, so all you can really see is a mop of curly brown hair and the left arm of my robes.

Fred and George are busy pretending to be me and Flint making out (at least they're not _really _making out) and my two supposed friends are pissing themselves, every so often coming up for gasps of air before choking out "I Heart Katie" and collapsing again. Only Oliver Wood seems to be taking pity on me, he is just staring at his haggis (honestly, who eats that stuff?) with a rather odd expression on his face. He's kind of turning a mixture of red and purple (I think you could call it puce) and his hands are clenched again. And he's muttering something under his breath, what is it?

"_Think nice happy thoughts. Of quaffles and bludgers and pretty Golden Snitches. Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it…"_

And so on. Whoa, our beloved Quidditch captain really has cracked.

The ghosts have started some sort of entertainment which has at least shut everyone up and diverted attention from Flint's outrageous get-up. They're doing some weird formation gliding, and Nearly Headless Nick has decided to re-enact his own beheading. I can't help noticing that Wood is still doing the staring thing. If he doesn't want to chuck me off the team and he doesn't think I'm fat, _what is wrong with him?_

It doesn't matter, he's stopped staring. Mainly because we're traipsing up to the Gryffindor tower and he's standing in front of me, so there's no way he can look at me unless he has another set of eyes that he hasn't told anyone about. Actually, I wouldn't put it past him…

"What's with the hold up?" Angie grumbles. The way to the portrait hole is blocked by at least fifty students. "Just get in the bloody hole, I want to sleep."

"Let me through please," comes Percy's pompous voice. "What's the hold-up here? You can't all have forgotten the password – excuse me, I'm Head Boy – "

Suddenly the whole corridor is silent, and Percy's voice has lost all its pomp as he says quickly, "Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick."

"What's happening?" I ask, trying to peer around Wood's burly frame to get a glimpse. He moves slightly to grant me a view, and I draw in a sharp breath. The Fat Lady's canvas is a mess. It's as if somebody has slashed away at it with a knife; bits and pieces of the canvas litter the floor, and the Fat Lady is nowhere to be seen.

Professor Dumbledore has swept towards the portrait, accompanied by Professor McGonagall, Lupin and Snape.

"We need to find her," he says. "Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady."

"You'll be lucky!"

Oh dear. Once Peeves is involved, it can't be good news.

"What do you mean, Peeves?" Dumbledore asks calmly.

"Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful," he sounds quite happy, and adds "poor thing" in a very unconvincing afterthought.

"Did she say who did it?" Dumbledore asks this quietly, as if he knows the answer.

"Oh, yes, Professorhead. He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see. Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."

Oh.

"Shindigity do."

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_**Oliver**_

I can't believe this. The entire school is lying in the Great Hall in squashy purple sleeping bags whilst the professors search the rest of the castle for Black. I don't think Dumbledore expects to find him, but to be totally honest, my mind isn't really focussed on Black at the moment. It's instead focussed on the rather more delightful yet painful subject of Katie Bell. To be exact, I'm focussing on not focussing on the fact that Katie Bell's face is less than three inches away from mine. Unfortunately it's not because she's suddenly fallen for my wit and manly charms, it's because the zip on her sleeping bag got stuck and I, being the gentlemanly young man that I am, offered to help zip her up.

"Er, Oliver?"

"Katie?"

"Thanks for the help, but is there a reason you're staring at me like that?"

Blast.

"Er, you have a smudge on your cheek," I reply, wiping off an imaginary spot of dirt before lying back down in my own sleeping bag, moving my head away from hers but not relinquishing my stare.

"Oh, good. For a second there I thought I had another Flint on my back." She laughs and I force one out too. Haha. _I'm so screwed._

Katie turns around to gossip to the others about Sirius Black's break-in, but I'm not in the mood. See, I'm contemplating a very drastic turn that my life seems to have taken.

I've gone crazy. I'm mad. I am totally, utterly in_sane_. I have lost the plot. I'm bonkers. I have owl droppings for brains. Do you get the picture? I, Oliver Wood, am a total ass. Some of my Quidditch players might tell you that I was insane a long time ago, but that's only because they think I'm a little too obsessed with Quidditch. Problem is, I'm beginning a new obsession. It's called 'Katie Bell'. And there's three reasons why this Katie Bell Obsession makes me a total ass:

1). I am imagining what it would be like to kiss Katie Bell. This makes me an ass because, as well as her being three years younger than me, I am her captain and I have made it very clear that I disapprove of inter-team relationships, yet here I am _imagining kissing Katie Bell._

2). I am even more of an ass because Katie obviously is not imagining what it would be like to kiss me, which means I have been bitten by the 'Unrequited Love' bug. Everyone thinks people like that are asses. I mean, look at Marcus Flint. Oh Merlin, I may as well ask him if I can borrow that t-shirt he made.

3). But mostly, I'm an ass because I live by the motto, 'If you really, really like a girl, just ignore it'. Forget about Katie Bell? Easy as pie.

* * *

You know that comment I made about forgetting Katie Bell being as easy as pie? I take that back. Last night I didn't get one iota of sleep. It wasn't because I was afraid that Sirius Black was about to burst into the room and 'Avada Kedavra' us all. It wasn't even because Fred and George shrank my sleeping bag until it cut off all the circulation in my lower body. It was because, sometime during the early hours of the morning when Katie had fallen asleep, she had somehow managed to end up pressed up against my back. And she didn't move all night. Do you know how hard it is to sleep when an abnormally pretty fourth-year Chaser is pressed up against your back? Suffice to say that I am now on my fifth cup of coffee to ensure I don't fall asleep during classes today. The worst bit is she doesn't even seem to remember (or care) that she was snuggled against me for the better part of six hours. It's really enough to make a man want to feed himself to a colony of Acromantula (though finding a colony would be quite tricky), to know that he really has been bitten by the 'Unrequited Love' bug. 

"Oliver, Oliver, earth to Oliver!"

"Mmgrrmphffff." Yeah, that coffee doesn't seem to be working.

"Do we have practice this morning?" Bloody Angelina. Can't she see that I need a little rest here?

"Grrrffmmphtt."

"Er, that would be a 'no' then," she says cautiously.

"No! Wait! What are you saying? Of course we have practice! Are you going to let a tiny thing like Sirius Black stop us from winning the cup?"

Harry's looking at me from down the table with a kind of 'My Captain Is Bonkers' stare. So what? I already knew that!

Now everyone's looking at me like that.

"Well, come on then! I'll see you at the change rooms in five minutes!" I storm off, crashing into a gaggle of first-years on my way and giving Marcus Flint my best death-stare as I pass the Slytherin table. Lime green really isn't his colour.

* * *

Quidditch sucks. I give up. I've let in every single goal that Katie Bell has thrown, even the ones where she's done these great looping passes that I could easily block. Why? Because I'm trying so hard to forget that I am imagining kissing her that I also keep forgetting that it's my job to block the ball. 

"Oliver Wood, what in Merlin's name is going on?" Katie thunders after she throws one Quaffle straight towards me and I swerve out of the way to let it in.

"Oh, I get it," she says with a nasty glare.

Gulp. She's onto me.

"It's one of your stupid mind games isn't it? You're trying to lure me into a false sense of security about my goal-scoring abilities so that when we play Ravenclaw you can scream at me. Well guess what? You and your stupid mind games can go to hell!"

What, so now I was getting shouted at because _she _was too darn pretty?

"Katie, wait!" I swerve my broom until I'm in front of where she's just landed and jump off, blocking her exit path to the changing rooms.

"First you tell me I'm fat and now you won't block my shots. Talk to me again when you're sane," she growls, pushing me out of the way and marching off into the rooms.

Unfortunately, I think it'll be a while until I next have a conversation with Katie Bell.

* * *

**A/N: Well, what did you think? Tell me! (unless you thought it resembled dragon's droppings and then I'd rather not know)**


	5. A long title that doesn't fit in here

**It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would be the happiest girl in the world. Unfortunately I'm rather depressed that school is going to start tomorrow, so I'm not really very happy at the moment.**

**A/N: This isn't very long, and I'm not exactly over-the-moon about the job I've done on it, but I wanted to update quickly. I'm usually one for quality over quick updates, but after tomorrow I won't have much time to write anyway, so the quality will probably go downhill anyway. Thank you so much to all my reviewers, and I hope I don't disappoint with this next chapter.**

**Funsize x x**

* * *

**Chapter 4: The House Elves Must Be Poisoning the Pumpkin Juice**

_**Katie**_

We lost. Not to Slytherin, they pulled out at the last minute, something about Malfoy still being injured. Wood was furious. No, we lost to Hufflepuff by 100 points. No one blames Harry, of course. That Dementor was _not _supposed to enter the grounds. And, like George said, there had to be one time he didn't win us a match. We all thought Wood had drowned himself in the showers or something; he didn't even come to visit Harry in the hospital wing after the match. In fact, he didn't speak for almost a week. But it's mid December already and he's back to his usual manic self, since Ravenclaw thrashed Hufflepuff, because if we win our game against them next term we'll still be in the running for the Cup. In fact, this being our last week before Christmas break, Wood has returned to Highly Obsessed Quidditch Captain and has been making us practice in the pouring rain for six hours straight.

"Wood! It's half past eleven! We can't see a thing out here and we're all going to catch pneumonia if we don't dry off soon!" I hear Angelina bellow at him.

Wood either doesn't notice or doesn't pay attention, just throws another Quaffle at her and zooms back to guard the goals. Practicing in pitch blackness with howling winds and pouring rain is apparently on Wood's priority of Things to Do.

Suddenly there's a flash of lightning above the forest and the rain buckets down harder than ever. That's it. His craziness has gone far enough; I am not going to be struck by lightning and burnt to toast because of him. I fly straight towards the insane idiot and brake inches away from his broom.

"OLIVER JAMES WOOD!"

Good, he's looking scared.

"I don't care how much you want to win this year, you're not going to win if half your team resigns! And I certainly will resign if you don't get your sorry ass off your broom and let us get changed NOW!"

He just gives me this kind of spaced-out look like he's not all there (I'm not surprised) and shrugs, before flying down to the ground. The rest of the team (apart from Harry, who still seems to be searching for the snitch, poor boy) follow suit, but I find it a little hard to manoeuvre my broom to the ground.

Did Oliver Wood just give in to me without an argument?

Something's up.

Harry's the only one still down here, apart from Madam Hooch (who's been sitting in on all our practices since Black's break-in, although she's fast asleep anyway), because once that boy wants the snitch, he won't stop til he's got it. I'll leave him to it, he's almost as insane as Wood, that one. I make my way up to the castle, my head in a spin. There is something wrong with our Quidditch captain and I am determined to find out what it is.

"Hey, Katie. Katie!"

"Wha—oh!" Someone has pulled me behind the statue of Boris the Bewildered. Oh no, I'm going to be raped! Someone help!

I start to scream but I'm cut off by my rapist's hand.

"Shh, do you want to be caught or something? I'm not trying to hurt you, it's me, Roger."

Oh. Roger Davies. What is _he _doing out of bed at almost midnight?

"I've been wanting to talk to you for a while, and I was waiting til your practice was over, but it went on for a while," he whispers. I can see him properly now and my heart has slowed down from its 'Rape Attack' pace.

"Oh, that would be Wood. He's being quite a berk about beating you guys in our next match."

Uh oh, Wood is going to kill me. I'm fraternising with the enemy!

"Right, well, I was just thinking, the next Hogsmeade weekend is this week…"

Is this heading where I think it's heading?

"Er, have you, are you, were you planning on going with anyone in particular?" he asks nervously.

"Ha, anyone but Flint," I accidentally say out loud. No! I was supposed to lie and say I had a very hot date lined up! Wood is going to hang, draw and quarter me when he finds out.

"Oh good, because I was wondering, well, would you like to go with me?"

Dammit.

"Uh…well I, er, the thing is…yeah! That would be great!"

_Why couldn't I think of a good excuse!_

"Oh great! Great! So, I'll see you round then, Katie. Better head off to the dorms, you know, Filch is prowling around."

He finally moves away so I'm not trapped between him and the wall.

What is going on in the world? Roger asked me out, and _I accepted?_

I think I know. The house elves must be poisoning the pumpkin juice.

_**Oliver**_

It's Friday morning and I am walking to History of Magic with a bounce in my step. Usually I would be walking to History of Magic with tears of dread in my eyes, but I have A Plan. I came up with this plan because I've decided, if I'm going to be pathetically in love with Katie Bell, I may as well do it in style. See, Marcus Flint has decided to make a business selling his lime green 'I Heart Katie' t-shirts (they're selling like hotcakes I might add) and I am going to buy one. I am going to flaunt the fact that I love Katie Bell to the entire world. Aha, he's walking straight towards me, time to put my plan into action.

"Oi, Flint. I want a word," I put on my best scary voice and Flint obliges, standing to one side of the crowded corridor.

"So, I'd like to purchase one of your t-shirts," I say conspiratorially, nodding at the giant box labelled 'I Heart Katie T-Shirts: Thirty sickles per shirt'

Flint smirks.

"I'll do you a deal. Ten galleons for my entire supply."

Why would I want an entire supply of these t-shirts? But people are staring at me funnily, so I jingle around in my pocket and quickly hand over all my money. Flint leers, hands me the box and walks off with his hands in his pockets, whistling out of tune. I look down at the giant box and frown. Do you mean I have to carry this thing around with me all day?

"Oh, Oliver, I wanted a word with you."

Crud. It's Katie. Double crud. The box! Argh!

"Er, what are you doing with a box of Flint's t-shirts?"

I do the only thing I can think of. I Vanish the entire box of my beloved t-shirts.

Katie squeals and wraps her arms around me.

"You bought his entire supply to get rid of them? That's so sweet! Oh, I love you Oliver!"

"Really?"

Katie's got that awkward look on her face again, so I attempt to change the subject.

"Well, if you need another excuse for this Hogsmeade trip tomorrow, I'm still available."

Uh oh. Her left eye is twitching. Her left eye always twitches when she's got bad news.

"Erm, well, Oliver, the thing is…last night, well, Roger Davies kind of asked me to go with him."

I laugh. "Obviously you said no right?"

She doesn't answer.

"Katie? You said 'no', right?" There's a hint of panic in my voice.

"Actually, I said yes," she answers stoutly.

"But that, that's _fraternising with the enemy!_" I hiss at her. Not to mention that I am ten times better a captain than him and he has woman hair.

"Wha—woman hair?" Katie asks in confusion. Dammit, I said that bit out loud.

"You know, he does that whole thing with the wax and everything to make it stick up all over the place and he uses more product than pretty boy Diggory. But that's not the point, he's obviously trying to psyche you out before our game! I can't believe you fell for his stupid tricks!"

Bad move. She's glaring at me in a very McGonagall-like manner, with her lips pursed and everything.

"You may be my captain Wood," she pokes me in the chest. "But you have _no right _telling me who I can and cannot date. I'm going with Roger to Hogsmeade and that's that!" She storms off to whatever class she has, leaving me ten minutes late to class and ten galleons short of money.

Obviously my fashionably desperate plan didn't work. It's time for Plan B. If she can date the enemy, then so can I!

Felicity Chambers is officially the world's worst date. Yes, I am a stupid, immature brat, and it serves me right for trying to get one back at Katie. But if she can date the enemy, then I can too, and what better enemy than another Ravenclaw Chaser? Anyway, we've been sitting in Madam Puddifoot's stupid tea shop for half an hour, whilst Felicity drones on and on about some Charms assignment that she just got full marks on.

"And Professor Flitwick said it was the best essay he has ever marked, I mean, I did know that not many people would even think of putting in the fact that flying charms can be much more effective if a simple lightening spell is cast on the object beforehand, and – are you listening to me Oliver?"

The reason for my most recent lapse in concentration is that a remarkably pretty yet awkward-looking Katie has just entered the shop with that stupid oaf Roger.

"Oliver? _Oliver!_"

"Er, what?"

"Oh, never mind!" Felicity says sulkily, and gives up talking to play with her spoon.

"Oliver! Fancy seeing you here!"

Oh, so now the enemy is acting all friendly because he's dating my star Chaser, is that it?

"Roger. Fancy that," I mumble into my tea cup.

Roger is standing next to me grinning like an idiot, whilst Katie is hanging back looking rather ashamed and confused.

"And you're dating my Chaser I see. Trying to weasel some information out of her are you, eh? Well, Felicity, be sure not to let too much slip, we want to win this next game!"

"Huh, look who's talking, you Chaser-stealing woman-haired slime ball!" I retort angrily, glaring up at him.

"Whoa, I was just kidding mate, calm down. Katie and I were just going to sit down, but do you mind if we join you?"

"Oh, sure!" Felicity's voice sounds unusually fluttery and she giggles as Roger flicks his wand to bring up two extra chairs. Katie sits down rather moodily next to me, and stares desperately at the pink tabletop.

Before long, Davies and Chambers are engaged in the very interesting topic of Charms, and Katie is scowling rather prettily.

"So, having fun on your date with Roger?" I ask after the silence becomes uncomfortable.

"Yes!" she spits out rather forcefully. "Having fun on your date with _Felicity_?" she asks with a glare.

"Yes!" I also spit out rather forcefully.

We both glare at each other.

"Fine!" she mutters, staring sullenly at the pink tabletop again.

"Fine!" I mutter, doing the same.

We don't speak for the rest of the date.

* * *

**A/N: If you want to make me happy, tell me what you think :)**


	6. A Little Christmas Cheer&Some Bad Eggnog

**It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent**

**Disclaimer: Yes! I did it! I wrote the entire _Harry Potter _series and I'm fabulously rich! **

**...Okay...well _that _was a lie.**

**A/N: So, it's been a while. Okay, it hasn't been that long guys! But I apologise all the same. I have put up some extra one-shots in the meantime actually if any of you have read them. Aannnnyyway here is the next chapter, and I hope you all enjoy. I think there's only what, three chapters to go? So enjoy them while you can!**

**THANK YOU TO MY LOVELY REVIEWERS! You're all simply amazing! Hint to all other readers who don't review...REVIEW! It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. But now I really must go do my weekend homework...**

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Previously in It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent:

_"Oliver! Fancy seeing you here!"_

_Oh, so now the enemy is acting all friendly because he's dating my star Chaser, is that it?_

_"Roger. Fancy that," I mumble into my tea cup._

_Roger is standing next to me grinning like an idiot, whilst Katie is hanging back looking rather ashamed and confused._

_"And you're dating my Chaser I see. Trying to weasel some information out of her are you, eh? Well, Felicity, be sure not to let too much slip, we want to win this next game!"_

_"Huh, look who's talking, you Chaser-stealing woman-haired slime ball!" I retort angrily, glaring up at him._

_"Whoa, I was just kidding mate, calm down. Katie and I were just going to sit down, but do you mind if we join you?"_

_"Oh, sure!" Felicity's voice sounds unusually fluttery and she giggles as Roger flicks his wand to bring up two extra chairs. Katie sits down rather moodily next to me, and stares desperately at the pink tabletop._

_Before long, Davies and Chambers are engaged in the very interesting topic of Charms, and Katie is scowling rather prettily._

_"So, having fun on your date with Roger?" I ask after the silence becomes uncomfortable._

_"Yes!" she spits out rather forcefully. "Having fun on your date with Felicity?" she asks with a glare._

_"Yes!" I also spit out rather forcefully._

_We both glare at each other._

_"Fine!" she mutters, staring sullenly at the pink tabletop again._

_"Fine!" I mutter, doing the same._

_We don't speak for the rest of the date.

* * *

_

**Chapter 5: A Little Christmas Cheer and Some Bad Eggnog**

_**Katie**_

We didn't speak the entire date. What am I saying; it wasn't even as if I was supposed to be on a date with him anyway. Stupid Roger and Felicity got on a little too well, not that I was complaining. Wood's right, Roger _does _have woman-hair. Anyway we didn't talk for the entire date, and we didn't talk during Quidditch practice Sunday morning, and we didn't talk when he crashed into me on the Hogwarts Express on Monday morning, and we didn't talk when I crashed into _him_ at the platform after that. Basically, it's been an entire week since I've said a word to my Quidditch captain. I've been back home for that entire time, but still, I feel like things are going to be damn awkward when we next meet.

"Kates, are you ready to be bored out of your mind for the next six hours?" My mum's head peeks into my room, her blue eyes sparkling. Every year since I was eleven I've accompanied Mum to her office Christmas party to try and stop her doing something scandalous. She owns a small newspaper company (she got sick of the political bull in the Prophet one morning and decided to start her own version) called The Charmed Parchment.

"One minute," I tell her.

I look into my mirror and take a deep, calming breath. I'm dressed up in a set of emerald green dress robes and my brown hair curls loosely down my shoulders. I don't look like someone off the cover of Witch Weekly, but it's the best I'll get.

"You look stunning, dear," my mirror comments in an old, wheezy voice, and I grin.

"I agree. Now hurry, it's bad when I'm always late to these things," Mum smiles. _She _is stunning. Her blue eyes match perfectly with the periwinkle dress robes she is wearing, and her blonde hair is up in a loose bun, with tendrils falling out around her neck. For a thirty-one year old, she cleans up pretty well.

I jump up and grab her hand. I always Side Along Apparate to these places – Mum agrees that it wouldn't be right to turn up covered in soot and I'm not yet old enough to Apparate by myself.

After all these years however, I'm still not used to that horrible lurching feeling, and I have to take a moment to steady myself when we spin to a stop outside the large hall. And it's not only because of the trip. Through the window I can see a very familiar back dressed in black dress robes. There's no mistaking it, he turns around, looks me straight in the eyes and I almost faint with surprise. What on earth is Oliver Wood doing at my mum's office Christmas party?

* * *

_This is not going to be awkward, this is not going to be awkward, this is not going to be awkward._

I've been repeating that little mantra inside my head for the past half an hour, as I've slowly circulated the room with my mum, and so far I've managed to steer her well away from where Oliver is standing with who I presume to be his father.

"Oh, Diana, I want you to meet James," an old witch in magenta robes twitters to my mum, pulling us towards the dreaded corner where Oliver has been standing all night. Fortunately for me, Oliver takes that exact moment to move towards the refreshments table to get a drink, and I mentally sigh in relief.

"James! James Matthews!"

Matthews? As in, not 'Wood'?

The man we're being flung across the room towards is old-man-hot in a not-very-old way. He looks like he might be in his early thirties, and has dark, almost black hair that curls slightly past his ears. His grey eyes are kind and I like him almost immediately, before I remember Oliver was with him only five minutes before, and this guy must be just as mad as him.

"Oh, James," Maria (the old magenta-robed witch) simpers. "This is Diana Bell, _The Charmed Parchment's _creator. Diana, James has just been _dying _to meet you!"

When Mum just raises a curious eyebrow at her, Maria looks scandalised, as if she expects Mum to start simpering too.

"Ms Bell," James Matthews' voice is deep and kind of sexy, and I grin at Maria while we both slink off to get a drink. Perhaps this will be Mum's lucky year.

Unfortunately for me, it's not my lucky night, because I totally forgot that Oliver had also migrated towards the drinks and I bump into him totally unprepared.

"Oh! Oliver! Hi!" Dammit. I was trying to sound happy to see him and I ended up sounding like a crazy stalker.

"Hey! Katie! Wow, is it good to see you!"

Ah, well, I think he just outdid me.

We both grin sheepishly at each other for a second before I roll my eyes.

"Let's not make this awkward, okay? It's Christmas," I wave a hand around at the icicles and mistletoe as if they're spelling out 'No Awkwardness' and Oliver nods back.

"Right. Not awkward."

He twiddles his thumbs as I take a long drink of Butterbeer.

"Er, if you don't mind me asking, what exactly are you doing here Katie?"

I splutter and choke.

"What am I doing here? What are _you _doing here? My mum owns this company!" I almost yell in incredulity. Not because I'm so up myself that I think everyone should know that, but because there's a giant banner spread across the ceiling that reads 'Have a Merry Christmas and Save Me Some Eggnog' with a big picture of my Mum's grinning face on either side.

"Oh, right. Well, I'm just here with my cousin-in-law," Oliver replies, nodding in the direction of my mum and the old hottie.

"Your what?"

"Cousin-in-law. James. He's my mum's sister's husband's brother's son, but I just call him my cousin-in-law."

I can see why.

"But, he's hot. And old. And he's into my mum."

Oliver quirks an eyebrow at me and I frown. I was supposed to think _he _was crazy, not the other way around.

"Why are you here though? I don't think I've ever met my mum's sister's husband's brother's son, let alone gone to a boring Christmas party with him."

My mum doesn't actually have a sister who has a husband who has a brother who has a son, but wasn't my point.

"My parents are away and I'm staying with him," Oliver answers.

Great. There go all my fantasies of Mum having a whirlwind romance with the old hottie. That would mean extra time with Oliver. I can just imagine, dawn Quidditch practices during the holidays. I shudder and get another weird look from Oliver.

"Hey, don't look at me like that. _I'm _not the crazy one," I glare, putting down my empty bottle.

"Yeah, about the whole crazy thing, I'm really sorry. I've been a little stressed out lately, you know, this is my last chance to you—get you and the rest of the team the Quidditch Cup I mean," he stutters.

"In the spirit of Christmas, I forgive you," I tell him. I'm not one to be immature about things like him calling me fat and ruining my dates. Which reminds me…

"How are things going with Felicity?" I smirk.

Okay, so I'm not so mature as to let this one drop.

Oliver looks flustered.

"I'm sorry Katie, she owled me the other day…"

Why is he sorry? _I _don't care that she's a total cow who's obsessed with schoolwork.

"She said she wanted to break up because, well, apparently Roger asked her out."

Oh.

That just blew up in my face.

* * *

_**Oliver**_

I didn't want to tell her. I really didn't. She's gone white. Oh please, don't pass out on me Katie.

"I'm sorry, Katie. I wasn't sure if Roger had said anything to you about it, obviously he hasn't…"

"Yes, obviously not."

Oh no. She has this lopsided smile on her face that really isn't very happy looking. And it's Christmas. Christmas is a time for getting a little bit too tipsy and eating too much turkey and all-round general cheer.

"Screw Davies, those two idiots deserve each other. Now why don't you follow in your mother's footsteps and dance? She looks like she's having fun."

Katie glances over at the dance floor, where her mother is wrapped rather tightly around James. Her smile becomes less lopsided and I get this swooping feeling in my stomach because she looks so pretty. Obviously I don't learn. The girl thinks I'm a loon and I still keep thinking about kissing her.

"Oh, alright then," she looks up at me and grabs my hand, leading me towards an empty patch amongst the sea of swaying couples.

We dance together to a number of slow songs, and I find myself getting closer and closer with each minute. Her hands are clasped tightly around my neck and I can feel her breath on my chin.

"Oliver," she whispers, so soft I almost don't hear her.

_Please, please profess your undying love for me_.

"You're not so bad, you know. If we forget the fact that you're a raving lunatic about Quidditch."

_Close enough, I guess._

"For that, Miss Wood, I'm scheduling two practices a day when we get back to Hogwarts next term."

Katie looks up at me in mock outrage.

"But Oliver, that's impossible when each session is about thirteen hours long."

Oh har dee har har Katie.

"Well then, I'll just have to torment you the best way I know how," I say, pushing her into a spin that makes her scream.

"Oliver! Just wait til my head has stopped pounding from too much eggnog and I will hex you so far into another dimension—"

"Oliver, what did you do to this pretty girl to make her want to hex you?"

Grr stupid James always butting in. Katie's mum is with him and she's smiling happily at me. I can see where Katie gets her looks from.

"Kates, is this that crazy Quidditch captain you're always talking about?"

Crazy? But hey, she's always talking about me!

"Isn't this a small world eh? Oliver's my cousin-in-law, Diana," James smiles at Katie's mum. Wow, he looks happy. Maybe I should get some tips from him…No! I'm not that desperate to get dating tips from a thirty-three year old!

Katie's mum, being the lovely, beautiful woman who gave birth to my pretty little angel-pie (oh MERLIN I did NOT just say that, I erase that last sentence from my mind) has led my interfering cousin-in-law away and Katie is standing silently in front of me.

"So, er…"

"I thought you said no awkward?" I grin.

"It's not awkward, it's just…well, I have nothing to say."

"That's awkward."

"Oh. You're right," Katie sighs.

"So much for Christmas cheer, eh?"

Katie grimaces.

"Yeah, all I got was some really off-tasting eggnog."

"You know, it looks like your mum and my cousin-in-law might be seeing a lot of each other these holidays," I suggest.

Katie quirks an eyebrow. That's one look that really works for her, I must say.

"Aaand?" she drawls.

"Well, I guess that would mean we'd be seeing a lot of each other too."

"Oh no, this isn't turning into a Marcus Flint moment is it?" Katie jokes.

"HA HA HA HA er no, of course not!" I over-enthusiastically laugh.

"Ri-ight."

"What I meant was perhaps you could look past my crazy Quidditch-obsessed ways and you know, we could do some stuff together, totally unrelated to Quidditch in all ways."

"Totally unrelated to Quidditch?" Katie's eyes narrow in suspicion.

Well, I thought a good snog-session was totally unrelated to Quidditch.

"Er, well, maybe not totally unrelated. I mean, we do have a cup to win," I answer with my fingers crossed behind my back.

"No dawn practices, okay?" Katie warns.

"Yes sir. Understood. Now, how about another dance?"

Katie looks really put-off. What, do I smell bad or something?

"Not right now Wood. I think I'm about to vomit. That eggnog really didn't agree with me. I'll be in the bathroom," she staggers off towards the ladies room.

Charming.

* * *

**Awww, how romantic.**

**Soon enough my chickens, soon enough. But until the real-life snog-session begins, feel free to tell me how much you adore my story and how much you love me and want to give me all your money. yeesss...**

**Funsize**


	7. Back In The Game

**A/N: Thank you everyone for being so patient with me! I'm sorry this has taken so long, but once I finally got back on track to write, I wrote out an entire chapter that I HATED because it was so cliche, and then re-wrote it again, and now it's prtty boring, but it's mostly a filler before the next chapter so I could get back into my story.**

**Because it's been so long, I'll give a little summary of what's happened: Oliver is in love with Katie, Katie thinks he's mad, Katie and Oliver both went out with two Ravenclaw's (Roger and Felicity) who have now ended up together, and Katie's mum met the charmingly handsome James Matthews (Oliver's cousin-in-law) at her annual Christmas party for her newspaper company.**

**And without further ado, here is chapter six:

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It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent

**Chapter 6: Back in the Game (In More than One Way)**

_**Katie:**_

So it just has to be my luck that my mum's fourteen-year dry spell has to be broken with my psychotic Quidditch captain's cousin-in-law, doesn't it? You'd think that that would in no way mean anything to do with Wood with such a distant relative, but Oliver's parents have decided to rekindle their love-life with a second honeymoon, and so every second my mum is with Mr Matthews, I'm within a broomstick's poke of Oliver. I've been going round to his house fairly often (when he's not at mine) just to pass time whilst our respective guardians have romantic candlelit dinners at Mr Matthews' bachelor pad and god knows what else middle-aged love-birds do these days. Whilst Oliver's parents are holed up in Florence, Mr Matthews is supposed to be keeping an eye on him (although his parents are delusional if they think he's one to have a raving party while they're gone), but lately both Mr Matthews' eyes have been glued to my mum twenty-four hours a day. And that leaves Wood all alone at his house and me alone at mine, so I've been forced to take Wood up on his 'friends-with-dating-guardians' proposal. His house isn't the biggest, but his parents own an apple orchard (one of his dad's hobbies outside of his job as a sports commentator) perfect for playing Quidditch, which we find time for in between our verbal wars (which I always win).

I swear there are only two things going through his head; food and Quidditch (mainly Quidditch). He doesn't even think about girls, like any normal teenage boy would. In fact, when I pointed out the blonde Muggle stick-insect down my road who does modelling for some big Muggle clothing brand, he just grunted and asked if I wanted to play one-on-one. I think he might be gay. Or in love with his broomstick.

Another annoying thing about spending time with Oliver is that his craziness is rubbing off on me. I actually turned down hanging out with Ange and Alicia to instead watch replays of the 1962 World Cup where it took two weeks for Vladimir Krusstof to catch the snitch. To be fair, I wasn't really up for being the fifth-wheel in another double-Weasley date, but I still blame Wood for my socio-phobic tendencies.

I mean, if it wasn't for Oliver Wood, I wouldn't be standing knee-deep in muddy snow at this moment, waving a charmed golf ball above my head whilst screaming at a certain Quidditch captain that if he doesn't give my broom back _right now _I will personally castrate him with my incisors.

"THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING OLIVER! THAT CASTRATION IS GOING TO BE _PARTICULARLY _SLOW AND PAINFUL BECAUSE MY TEETH HAVE BEEN WORN DOWN BY CHRISTMAS TURKEY! I'M COUNTING TO THREE! ONE… TWO—"

"Alright hold your horses missy!" the stupid oaf grins, chucking my broom at me from where he's hovering a few feet to my left. I scowl as my 'beloved' broom falls into the muddy snow next to me.

"Just because I'm obviously a better Quidditch player than you doesn't mean you have to resort to trying to break my broom," I pretend to be angry. I left my brand new Nimbus Two Thousand and One at Hogwarts for the holidays, so I'm on an old Comet Two-Sixty I've borrowed from Wood. It isn't exactly the most streamlined of brooms, and to be honest, has seen better days.

"My mistake; I didn't realise this mouldy excuse for a lump of wood was actually built to do more than sweep the inside of a poor old lady's hut," he jokes, only really insulting himself for actually owning the broom.

"Don't be a spoilt-sport Wood. Just because your attempt at a Wronski Feint backfired and you dove head-first into an apple tree doesn't mean you have the right to patronise me. And don't think I've forgiven you for setting my broom tail on fire either." The spell hadn't been particularly effective though, seeing as the broom was mostly covered in sludgy snow that soon put out any glowing embers.

"You're the one who bewitched that crazy bird to follow me around and peck my eyes out!" Wood yells back.

I grin; that one was pure genius on my part.

"Me? Bewitching a bird? Just because that creature could see the evil lurking behind your mentally-handicapped façade. Maybe you should learn to part your hair so the horns don't show."

"Ah, so that's how you've been convincing everyone you're not Lucifer in disguise, by pinning the blame on me. Too bad your mask slipped when you went into that miraculous dive and I caught a glimpse of the fire-breathing monster beneath."

"Stop trying to waste time with small talk Wood. It's best of five and seeing as it's already two – nil I suggest you use your limited brain space to figure out how to catch a flying golf ball rather than insult me."

And that's pretty much how our time together is spent. Playing Quidditch and shouting.

Okay, I never thought I'd admit it, but I'm actually starting to enjoy spending time with Wood, especially the shouting matches. I mean, yes, he is overly-obsessed with Quidditch and has a weird fetish for tomato sauce sandwiches, but all that craziness grows on you after a while. I'm actually a little disappointed that tomorrow we'll be back on the Hogwarts Express and I won't be seeing as much of my crazy Keeper.

Yes, despite all odds, Oliver Wood and I are friends.

* * *

_**Oliver:**_

Wow, this is so romantic, chasing after a flying golf ball on two creaky brooms covered in sludgy snow. Unfortunately for me, Katie doesn't seem to be indulging in any romantic notions and has so far refrained from confessing her undying love for me. Being a gentleman, I have to wait for her to instigate that kind of discussion, so unfortunately I'll just have to stick to _imagining _snogging Katie for now.

"Oliver, why are you making that scary face?"

Crap. Katie has apparently caught the flying golf ball for the third time and was about to rub it in my face when she witnessed my snogging face.

"Er, I accidentally ate some snow?"

She snorts at me.

"You are such a loser, Oliver Wood."

"I'm outraged. How could you say something like that about your favourite Quidditch captain?"

That might sound a little far-fetched to you, seeing as in the past four years Katie has tried to kill me on average thirty-eight times a month, but I am her only Quidditch captain, and that, by default, makes me her favourite.

She doesn't have time to make a witty remark (which means I _am _her favourite captain! Ha!) because my house elf Bobbles is running through the snow dressed in a tattered pink pillow slip squeaking at us to get inside before the snowstorm hits and we die a slow and painful death as our toes turn blue and drop off and our blood slowly freezes and the oxygen doesn't reach our brains and we gradually stop breathing. She has a vivid imagination, our Bobbles.

* * *

"If your mother and my cousin-in-law get married, will that make us related?" I ask Katie in between mouthfuls of a chicken and avocado sandwich. I have to know, because I don't want her to be put off having my babies just because our relatives decide to get hitched.

"I think you'll be something like my stepfather's-father's-sister-in-law's-son, or something," she says, scrunching up her face in thought.

"Ahh, that's a relief." Our babies will have eight fingers and two thumbs in all the right places.

"Yeah I know right? I won't have to spend any more time with you than necessary."

I'm shattered.

"I'm kidding knobhead. Actually, I kind of like hanging around with you…in a weird, masochistic way." She looks kind of awkward when she says that, but I'm finding it kind of hard to stop this incredibly stupid grin spreading across my face.

She likes spending time with me! My dear fellows, I do believe I'm back in the game! Now all I have to do is turn that weird masochistic like into a head-over-heels-I'm-in-love-with-Oliver-Wood and I'll be unstoppable. Who would ever have thought that things would actually work out for me? Now I can continue my daydreams of James Matthew's and Katie's mum's wedding, in which I (the best man) and Katie (the bridesmaid) end up stealing the show when Katie's heel snaps…and I rush to her rescue…and she swoons in my arms…and I tell her I love her…and she says I'm not such a knobhead after all…and I ask her to marry me…and she says—

CRASH!

"What was that?" Katie asks. The loud crash that rudely awoke me from my beautiful daydream had come from my lounge room, and as far as we knew, Bobbles was reading a trashy romance novel in the laundry room.

"Katie?" a very familiar (yet wobbly) female voice calls from the general vicinity of the crash.

"Mum?" Katie scrapes her chair across the tiles as she rushes towards the voice, and I follow slowly behind. What on earth is Katie's mum doing at my house? Could she be here to give us her blessings? Or perhaps announce her own wedding?

I stop short when I come to the doorway. For some reason, I don't think Diana Bell is about to announce her wedding. Her face is white and her eyes are all red like she's been crying. And she's talking in a soft, shaky voice to Katie, and I can hear the words "it's over" repeated several times.

Katie looks up and sees me hovering by the door.

"Um, Oliver, we have to go. I'm sorry. It's…it's complicated." She looks a little shocked and confused, and I don't want to press the matter.

Damn my gentlemanly manners.

"Sure, I guess I'll see you on the train tomorrow?" I ask, my stomach feeling particularly heavy.

Katie just nods, before grabbing her mum's arm, and with a turn and a step, they vanish.

Well that bloody well ruins a bloke's dreams, doesn't it?

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**A/N: I know, it was short and not much happened, but I assure you the next update will be more juicy, because we'll find out exactly what has happened betweeen Mr Matthews and Diana Bell. So please please review and make my day!**

**Funsize x x**


	8. BreakUps & BreakDowns

**A/N: So, another chapter up! Thank you so so so much to all my lovely reviewers (metro.max, Imperial Princess, HazelGreenEyes, wandless, SiriuslyPadfoot101, Witch Tekamika, sofia666, Nyzoe, Lady Catriona-Arre, FizzingWhizbeez, GregFanatic, formerlyknownasone, TooSweet4Words and anyone else who has reviewed past chapters), you really make my day! For those who were wondering, no, James Matthews is not gay, nor is Katie's mum. Actually, we find the return of a long-lost character...Yeah, this chapter has more drama than previously but I still tried to keep the tone light-hearted, at least at the end.**

**But I'm giving it all away! Read on before I spoil the rest...

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It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent

**Chapter 7: Break-Ups & Break-Downs**

_**Katie:**_

I can only ever remember seeing one photograph of my father. I was seven years old and Mum was out at one of her elegant dinner parties, so naturally I was going through her wardrobe playing dress-ups. As I dug around the bottom of her shoe closet my hands curled around an envelope stuck right in the back. Curiosity overcame me; I tugged it out and slid open the unsealed flap. Inside was a Muggle photograph (I remember shaking it to try and make the figures move), taken at a country house of a young couple. The girl was obviously my mother, but the man was a stranger. He was exceedingly handsome, even to my seven-year-old mind, with windswept shaggy brown hair, a devilish grin and vivid green eyes. It was those eyes that locked themselves deep in my memory. They were so impossibly bright, so sharp, like they were looking right through me. I remember closing my left eye and looking in the mirror on my mum's dresser. The face that stared back at me, the messy brown hair, the green eye, it was almost like looking at that photograph again.

I remember clutching that photograph and thinking just how happy the two of them looked together — how in love they seemed to be – and wondering what on earth had happened to make him stop loving her. Because back then, I knew that my mum was still in love with the mystery man in the photograph. My father.

I remember wishing on every shooting star I saw for years (something my mum used to say Muggles do) that one day my father would come back to us. I never expected it would turn out like this.

The man I'm currently staring at looks like he's jumped straight out of that photograph and into my kitchen. Except for the fact that his brown hair is a little shorter and he has the makings of smile lines around his mouth, my father is exactly as I've dreamed of him. However, unlike my dreams, I'm not running into his arms crying about how much I've missed him and how he's never to leave us again.

"Katie, this is Derrick, Derrick, this is my daughter Katie. Derrick is who I wanted you to meet, he is – he – "

"He's my father," I finish for her, still staring at 'Derrick', who now looks sufficiently awkward.

"What's he doing here?" I ask my mum bluntly. Fourteen years of fury at this man for abandoning my mother, for abandoning me, well up inside me, and I wish that I could take back all those wishes I had once made.

Mum looks startled and upset about my question, but I can't feel sorry for her. If she really wanted me to be prepared to meet my father she should have told me about him, not sprung it on me on my last day of holidays.

"Diana, let me explain," Derrick says in a soft voice. Damn him and his stupid Scottish accent. Everybody knows I'm a sucker for accents.

"Yes, please do," I answer acidly, and find myself quite able to continue quietly hating his guts.

"I met your mother when I was seventeen, and she was on holiday in Scotland with her family. They came down to the country, and got lost around our farm. When I found your mother she was having a very one-sided conversation with one of our pigs about his table manners, and from that moment I knew. It sounds cheesy, I know, but after I met your mother I couldn't imagine a life with anyone else. Her holiday ended all too soon, but we kept in touch by mail and I visited her the next Christmas, when she was back home from what she told me was a Catholic boarding school in the north of England. Yes, for whatever reasons, Diana never told me about Hogwarts, she never mentioned this other life that she had without me. Maybe it was because she was only sixteen and she didn't think I would believe her. Maybe it was because she was scared I _would _believe her and I would leave."

"She was right, you did leave." I interrupt, unable to stop myself.

"Yes, I left. Diana had finished school by that time, and she moved in with me straight away, her parents weren't too happy for her to stay in Scotland with me but we made it clear that we loved each other. Soon after this however your mother must have found out she was pregnant, and she knew then that she could no longer keep her secret life a secret. So one night, she sat me down and told me everything. Needless to say I didn't believe her at first. But after she turned our coffee table turquoise, I freaked out. You have to understand that I was only eighteen at the time, I was young and stupid and insecure. I believed that if Diana could keep her entire life a secret, if she had no problem lying to me about such an important part of her life, that she couldn't truly love me. Even though I knew deep down that we both loved each other, I felt betrayed and humiliated, and so I asked her to leave."

"So because of your adolescent ego you left a pregnant woman alone without any source of income?" I am so angry at him for trying to blame my mother for this that my nails are leaving red crescent-shapes in my palms from where I'm clenching my fists.

"I had no idea she was pregnant. Diana never told me, I guess she wanted to see how I'd react to the magic part first. All I knew was that I needed time away from her. I thought that once I had cleared my head I could find her and ask her to come back, but by then it was too late. When I went to her parents' house they would not let me see her. They told me about you, but the next time I tried to visit I could no longer find their house. Finally, when I was twenty-one, I stopped looking. My parents' business needed me, and I needed an escape, so I dove into a mountain of work and tried desperately to forget.

"And so imagine how I felt when after more than ten years of forgetting, I was required on business to London two weeks ago. As I made my way out of my train on platform ten, I caught a glimpse of a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes – not too extraordinary I know. But her voice; I knew that voice, and I almost called out to her when she turned her head to talk to a girl – you – who had suddenly appeared next to her, almost out of thin air. I knew that I couldn't just run up and introduce myself to you, so I kept my distance, but resolved on finding you while I was here."

"So what, you've been stalking us for the past two weeks?"

"Not quite. You see, I told you I managed to get in touch with your mother's parents one last time before they disappeared. They wouldn't let me speak to Diana, but they did feel sorry for me and told me something I never forgot. Apparently the magical bond between a child and its parents is incredibly strong. Even though I am a…Muggle, we still have a very powerful connection. It's what led me to you really. Apparently once 'the time was right' I would find you, that is, if the time ever _was _right. And after three years of searching I had given up hoping that the time ever would be right."

"That's such a load of codswallop." Huh. The 'time was right'? The time couldn't have been more wrong! My mother was in a healthy relationship for once and he came and ruined it!

"Well, you may think so, but I still found you. And I ran into your mother a few days ago, almost by accident. At first she didn't want to talk to me, but I took her for coffee and explained all this to her, and I apologised for the past fourteen years. She told me she was seeing someone, and that she couldn't just bring me back into her life after all this time. But she must have thought it over, because this morning just as I was calling a cab to take me to the station, she came to see me and told me she had decided to break things off with this man, and she wanted you to meet me."

"So after all this you just decided to take him back like nothing ever happened?" I turn on my mum. I can't believe she can just let herself be walked over like this. I can't believe she let a great guy like James Matthews get away because the guy that knocked her up said sorry.

"It's not that simple Katie. You can't understand, what your father and I had—"

"Is OVER!" I shout, surprising myself. I never shout. Well, apart from when I shout at Oliver Wood. "My mum may have forgiven you," I turn to Derrick and spit out, "but it will take a whole lot more than one measly apology to make me ever see you as anything more than an immature Muggle my mum was stupid enough to sleep with. So excuse me, I'm going to pack, and then I'm going to Alicia's house, where I won't have to worry about putting up with bad choices my mother makes."

Neither of them tries to stop me, which almost makes me stay. But nevertheless I pack my trunk for Hogwarts, take a pinch of Floo Powder, and step into the roaring green fire as I shout Alicia's address. So I haven't exactly told her I'm coming, but I'm sure she won't—

"AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!"

I'm curled up in the foetal position on the floor of Alicia's bedroom, screaming loudly with my hands over my eyes. The reason? I just fell out of the fireplace in her room to find her being mauled most explicitly by a monster with bright orange hair.

"Alright, it's ALRIGHT! You can open your eyes Katie!"

I hear Alicia yelling over my own screams so I peek through the cracks between my hands. The monster (apparently George Weasley) has jumped off the bed and has the decency to look incredibly sheepish. Alicia has obviously just pulled her top on (inside-out and back-to-front no less) and is making her way towards me, so I jump up and cross my arms in front of me, warding her off.

"Please, I don't want to get an STI," I say seriously, backing away.

"Well maybe next time you should knock," the stupid Weasley STI-carrier pipes up.

"What, knock on her _fireplace_? Grow a brain gonorrheae. Hey, I'm going to call you Gonorrheae George from now on!"

I'm still in a foul mood so I choose to ignore his muttering and turn to Alicia.

"You mind if I crash here? My mum decided to take my father back and I'd rather be eaten alive by a Flobberworm (a very slow and painful process seeing as they only eat cabbage) than have to be in the same house as him."

"WHAT?!"

I hate it when couples speak simultaneously. It's worse than when twins do it.

"Yeah so I'm really tired, don't mind if I just crash here," I continue nonchalantly, ignoring their outbursts and dragging some cushions around the floor.

"Your _father_? I thought she was seeing Oliver Wood?"

"No, it was Oliver's cousin," Alicia corrects.

"Oliver's cousin is a twelve-year-old girl," George replies as I crawl into my makeshift bed.

"Some people bat that way George, we shouldn't discriminate."

"Katie, what's going on?" Gonorrheae George asks (hey, it sticks!)

"Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the Doxy's bite," I smile sleepily as I drift off.

"Katie, Katie!" Alicia's voice fades away as sleep overcomes me.

Needless to say, my dreams are filled with cross-dressing Scotsmen and bright orange penises.

_**

* * *

Oliver:**_

So Katie can't blame me for the break-up. In fact, she should be totally nice to me (we could possibly work in a massage somewhere) because now my cousin-in-law is a completely broken-hearted train wreck. Apparently Katie's dad is back and her mum just couldn't resist him, so my darling Katie should be over-the-moon. And (even better yet) apparently said father is Scottish! It's hereditary I tell you! It's in her genes to fall madly and hopelessly in love with me! And now I've used up my daily quota of exclamation marks (yes, I do speak and think with exclamation marks) so I shall have to think for the rest of the day in a monotone.

Unfortunately for me I haven't had the pleasure of actually _seeing _Katie Bell since she disappeared from my house a few days ago. I was – ahem – forced into a carriage full of sixth-year girls on our trip on the Hogwarts Express, and then the Weasley twins managed to knock me unconscious as I walked into the Great Hall yesterday (Merlin knows why I ever trusted them with Beater bats), so I've been daydreaming in the hospital wing ever since then. I half expected Katie would perhaps come and visit once she heard the news, but you know, she's a busy girl, I'm sure she'll come as soon as she can.

"Ah, awake I see Mr Wood," Madam Pomfrey is bustling towards me and I start to cry inside. If it wasn't for her hypochondria I would be as free as a bird right now (er, scratch that, I did _not _just say 'free as a bird'. I think I'm channelling my mum's honeymooning spirit).

"Yes, awake and feeling like a freshly polished broomstick. Except for the fact that I'm not shiny and don't smell like new shoes…"

_AWKWARD._

"So, am I free to go?" I ask hopefully.

"You're very lucky Mr Wood. I managed to give you a dose of Cornelius' Concussion Cure before any real damage was done. If I didn't know you better I would say that you might have actually sustained injuries to your frontal lobe judging from your behaviour, but I've come to realise that's just normal for you."

Isn't she just adorable?

"I think I'll translate that as a 'why yes Oliver you seem to be perfectly well and I will now release you so that you can have your much awaited snog-session with the beautiful Katie Bell.' I know this goodbye will be as painful to you as it is to me, so I shall make it as short as possible."

I jump off the bed and rush out of the hospital wing before Madam Pomfrey can detain me any longer. Truth be told, my head is still pounding underneath the bandages, but nothing is going to stop me from being reunited with my one true love.

I burst into the Gryffindor Common Room, which is surprisingly empty. There are only a straggle of stressed-out seventh years (how's that for sibilance eh?), the Troublesome Trio (ie the Weasleys and Lee Jordan; great nickname huh?) and –

"Katie!"

She's huddled on the couch with Alicia and Angelina, but for some reason she doesn't look as overjoyed as I would have imagined when she sees me.

Also, Alicia and Angelina look like they're about to burst out laughing, and bury their heads in their Charms textbooks.

"Oliver, how's your head?" she asks slowly.

"Oh, great, great! Everything's great!" I remember I'm supposed to be thoroughly depressed about the break-up.

"Erm actually, now that you mention it, I'm severely depressed." I hang my head and try to look like a suicidal wreck.

"Are you sure there's no medication you're supposed to be taking? You're acting worse than usual."

"No, it's just, that break-up hit me hard. I was so happy when they were together, and seeing James so heartbroken; I don't know if I'll ever be the same again."

If I didn't know better I'd say Katie's eyes are flashing in anger, but it's just the reflection of lightning from outside. Which accounts for the emptiness of the Common Room; judging from the sky it's probably past twelve.

"Oliver, try not to mention anything to do with my mum for at least the next fourteen years. I mean, if she can forgive my father in that time I'm sure I'll be able to forgive her," she remarks cattily.

Er, okay…I'll just walk away now.

"And Oliver?" she calls as I slowly make my way up to my dorm.

"I'd change into something else before tomorrow if I were you. Hospital gowns aren't the most flattering of clothes."

Oh shite.

She grins.

"Nice butt though."

Hallelujah, praise the Lord! I knew Quidditch was good for something!

* * *

**A/N: So I know Katie's kind of acting a little Marissa Cooper-ish but she won't hold her grudge forever. She's just trying to look out for her mum. But if you have any constructive critisism I would love to hear it. Or if you just want to tell me you love my story, I would love that too. Hint: either way, you have to review.**

**Thanks once again to those beautiful people who click that blue button after they read my story :)**


	9. From Awkward, to Painful, to Just

**It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent**

**Disclaimer: I had a dream last night that I was J.K. Rowling and I invented the Harry Potter universe (and I was also scandalously dating Rupert Grint). However, I woke up this morning and I was just plain old me with my giant poster of Ron Weasley taped to my bedroom door. **

**A/N: So it's been about 7 months since I last updated this story and even I was beginning to doubt I ever would, so I'm not sure how many people will still be reading this. However if you don't all want to go back through my story to refresh your memories, here's a short re-cap:**

**Oliver realised he liked Katie Bell, Katie thought Oliver was a lunatic, Marcus Flint created a sensation in lime-green "I Heart Katie" t-shirts, Katie dated Roger, Oliver dated a girl to make Katie jealous, Roger and girl began dating, Katie's mum hooked up with Oliver's cousin-in-law, Katie's mum then left cousin-in-law for Katie's long-lost father, Katie left house in a rage, Oliver returned to Hogwarts and promptly got a blow to the head with a Beater bat courtesy of the Weasley twins. Here's the last section of the last chapter to refresh your memories even more, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!  
**

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_Previously, in _It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent:

_"Oliver, how's your head?" she asks slowly._

_"Oh, great, great! Everything's great!" I remember I'm supposed to be thoroughly depressed about the break-up._

_"Erm actually, now that you mention it, I'm severely depressed." I hang my head and try to look like a suicidal wreck._

_"Are you sure there's no medication you're supposed to be taking? You're acting worse than usual."_

_"No, it's just, that break-up hit me hard. I was so happy when they were together, and seeing James so heartbroken; I don't know if I'll ever be the same again."_

_If I didn't know better I'd say Katie's eyes are flashing in anger, but it's just the reflection of lightning from outside. Which accounts for the emptiness of the Common Room; judging from the sky it's probably past twelve._

_"Oliver, try not to mention anything to do with my mum for at least the next fourteen years. I mean, if she can forgive my father in that time I'm sure I'll be able to forgive her," she remarks cattily._

_Er, okay…I'll just walk away now._

_"And Oliver?" she calls as I slowly make my way up to my dorm._

_"I'd change into something else before tomorrow if I were you. Hospital gowns aren't the most flattering of clothes."_

_Oh shite._

_She grins._

_"Nice butt though."_

_Hallelujah, praise the Lord! I knew Quidditch was good for something!_

* * *

**Chapter 8: From Awkward, to Painful, to Just Plain Crazy**

_**Katie**_

Everybody knows that awkward stage when two people who were once good friends and made the stupid mistake of getting 'involved' decide to break up. It's those first few weeks where you're not quite sure if a joke about the size of his penis is allowed, and where he doesn't know if it's okay to flirt with his favourite barmaid in front of you. The thing is, the awkward stage is reserved for newly-broken-up-best-friends, not for Quidditch-captain-and-Chaser-whose-respective-guardians-dated-for-a-very-short-time-over-which-they-became-friends. Then why on earth is it so awkward for me to pack up Quidditch gear with Oliver Wood?

"So…"

Pause.

My broom falls to the floor with a clatter as it slips from under my arm (which is also full of practice-Quaffles so I'm not as clutzy as I sound).

"Ouch!"

We both bent down to rescue my broom and of course managed to bang heads in the process. I straighten up clutching my broom and blinking stupidly as Oliver rubs his head with a small frown. He looks quite cute when he does that actually; it gives him a little dimple on his cheek…

"Are you alright?" Oliver asks.

Apparently he's noticed that I've stopped dead in my tracks and am staring blankly at his left cheek.

"Er, yes, tip-top, one-hundred-percent, jolly good, top notch, happy as Larry…as a matter of fact how do you know Larry is happy? Who is Larry? Does anyone actually bother to find out if he's _really _happy? You'd think that people would care, I mean the phrase gets thrown around like a –"

"Whoa, steady on there, you're sounding like me now," Wood jokes, grabbing the Quaffles off me one by one and stacking them on a shelf as I mumble to myself. "Are you sure everything's okay?"

"Of course it's okay, I haven't talked to my Mum in two and a half weeks, I've recently discovered my long-lost father who I have already managed to hate and now everything is awkward between you and me and I don't know why." Whoops, I didn't mean for all that to come out.

"I could help you," Wood volunteers, placing the last Quaffle on the shelf.

Wood? Help? He's nuts if he thinks he can help me. He's nuts anyway I suppose.

"How could _you _help?" I ask cynically.

"I meant to carry your broomstick," he explains as my broom clatters on the ground again.

Oh, right. At least I'm smart enough not to make the same mistake twice—

"OUCH!"

Nope, I just make the entirely new and extremely painful mistake of trying to avoid Wood's head, tripping over my laces and falling flat on my behind.

"Frickity frick and a bag of Doxy droppings – THIS ISN'T FUNNY OLIVER!"

The stupid boy is chuckling like a mentally-impaired buffoon at the sight of me sprawled on my back.

"I think I liked it better when this was awkward," I mutter angrily, getting up and dusting off my backside with no second offer of help from Oliver.

"It'll all sort itself out soon enough," he finally offers as he checks the lock on the shed and I squint quizzically.

"What? My butt?"

"Your mum, your father, your butt. I mean, things are getting less awkward between us now aren't they?"

"Yeah, maybe I should just go home and fall down a few times, I'm sure it'll fix everything," I shoot back, but with a smile. It reminds me of all the fun I had arguing with him over the holidays.

"So there's been no conversing at all with your parents since you hijacked Alicia and George's baby-making-fun?"

"Apparently my mum checked with Alicia's to make sure I was alright before I came to school. Then she owled me about three times in the first week but I burnt the letters and sent her back the remains so I think she gave up."

"Oo-kay," Oliver says slowly, like burning your mother's letters and posting them again is crazy.

"I don't know, I guess it was kind of an odd thing to do, I'm just so confused about this whole thing…" I trail off; Wood probably doesn't want to hear all about my teenage angst.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I don't waste a moment. "Well firstly I feel awful because I know how much I've upset my mum, and I really don't mean to because I know she deserves to be happy after all these years being alone. But I can't stop myself from this stupid feeling that she cares more for Derrick than she does for me. Then I feel like she shouldn't be with him, because I mean, no excuse is good enough for the position he left her in when she was seventeen. I feel like she can't think straight and that if I just let her let her guard down for my father, then he'll just hurt her all over again. But then I feel confused because this is my _dad_, and I don't want to hate him, and I don't think I really do hate him, but I don't feel like I should forgive him this easily either. And most of all I feel incredibly alone because as far as I remember it's always been me and my mum; the longest I've gone without communicating with her in some way is twenty-four hours, and it's all my fault that we're not talking now."

I stop to take a breath and realise two things; one, I've reached the castle and two, I'm alone.

"Oliver?" I ask suspiciously, thinking that he's probably planning on pouncing at me from the shadows to scare me.

"It's not funny anymore Wood, if you try to hex me I'll get you with a Bat Bogey Hex and then we'll see who's laughing," I say sternly, pointing my wand into the looming darkness.

It's then that I hear a muffled yell, followed by a crashing noise from the closest bush, and then Wood emerges, covered in bits of leaves and sticks like some sort of odd headgear, brushing himself off and glancing furtively into the bush from whence he stumbled.

"What just happened?" It's not every day that my Quidditch-captain-turned-therapist gets swallowed up by a bush and spat back out again.

"Er, just thought I'd take a short detour…through a thicket of thorny bushes…to uh, you know, clear my head…"

"If you ask me, your whole body needs a bit of clearing," I answer as I swing open the great oak doors, and he brushes himself off more vigorously. I can't believe I was just divulging my innermost feelings to this boy, and all he can do is take a shortcut through a thicket of bushes!

"Right, see you round Katie," he says, turning in the opposite direction to me and hurrying down the Great Hall, disappearing in the half-light before I realise it.

"Wait, Wood, where are you going? It's almost nine, we have to go to our dorms – Oliver?"

I let out a frustrated growl and storm up to the Gryffindor tower without him. If that boy doesn't watch himself he's going to end up in St Mungo's, and I won't be visiting him.

* * *

_**Oliver:**_

"Seventh floor, seventh floor, what _bloody _tapestry are those infernal – oh."

I stop my muttering and hold my wand up to the wall, making out the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach ballet to a group of trolls.

"Alright." I peer around cautiously to check that nobody is around, then try to remember what I'm supposed to do next.

"Right, _go to the tapestry on the seventh floor…_done that…_turn to the wall opposite the tapestry and concentrate hard on finding us, walking up and down three times…_right."

I turn to face the opposite wall and concentrate very hard, pacing up and down three times. On the third turn I wheel around, squinting at the wall, which is very hard to see now that it's ten past nine and the lights are all out.

_Oh if Filch catches me I am incredibly screwed_, I think, shielding my wandlight with my cloak as I continue my staring competition with the wall, which is now a door.

I grab the handle quickly and enter the room, shutting the door behind me as softly as I can. Then I turn around and glare at the two smirking faces in front of me.

"So you found the place alright then Wood."

"I was rather scared that our dear captain might try and give us the slip dear brother."

"WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU TWO IMBECILES WANT?!" I yell in my angriest voice. It's quite impressive if I may say so myself.

"Before you try intimidate anyone you should probably remove that pretty pink flower from behind your ear," Fred advises me.

I swipe at my head and a deluge of sticks and leaves fly to the floor.

"Much scarier," George says with a huge grin.

"What on _earth_ were you two playing at, pulling me into that thicket?" I yell in the same angry voice. "Now Katie thinks I'm an insensitive idiot who likes taking shortcuts in bushes whilst I'm supposed to be listening to her divulge her innermost feelings!"

"Well, she got 'idiot' right…"

"ARRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"

"Now now Oliver, there's no need to lose your temper. We're only doing you a favour."

"Doing me a favour? I'm covered in scratches and I smell like rotting wood!"

"Ahh, they're only short-term effects Wood, nothing compared to the joys awaiting you if you accept our proposal," Fred guides me to an armchair beside the crackling fire and I slump into it resignedly. I've put up with my fair share of Weasley kidnaps and harebrained schemes over the years and I've learnt that the best way to escape with your body intact (and all limbs in their proper places) is to hear the twins out and then run.

"What is it?" I ask wearily.

"No need to adopt that tone—"

"I'm not sure we want to help someone this ungrateful," the other one finishes.

"Ahh but remember Fred, this boy is so incompetent that without our help he will probably die at the age of ninety clinging onto his broomstick and wondering why he'd never kissed a girl."

"Too true dear brother," Fred removes himself from his purple velvet armchair and pacing the room slowly. "Oliver, we've been watching you for a while now," he begins, glancing up at me before continuing his journey from the left of the fireplace to the right.

"We've watched your harmless puppy love for our underage Chaser blossom into a sick and disturbing mania—"

"Obsession," corrects Fred. "Yes, we fear that your behaviour for the past several months reflects that of a deranged lunatic and the object of your said obsession is slipping further and further from your grasp with each passing day."

"Really?" I ask in panic. Katie is slipping away from me? "Then I must go! I must kidnap her and hide her in the deepest and darkest of dungeons, where she will slowly go mad until she believes herself to be in love with me!"

I jump out of my seat and am halfway to the door before I hear a loud 'thump' and George Weasley lunges at me, pinning me to the ground.

"See? Already you've begun thinking like a psychopath!" He grunts, pulling me up and returning me to my chair.

"But we can save you!" Fred cries, clasping my shoulders with exuberance.

"You- you can?" I ask. I need saving?

"That's the reason we brought you here—"

"Reason we tackled you, dragged you into a thicket of bushes and persuaded you to meet us here," corrects Fred. "You see, with our help, you can make Katie Bell fall in love with you without all the mess of deep, dark dungeons and going to Azkaban for kidnap and torture."

I stop myself from laughing. "That's impossible. Katie Bell is _never _going to fall in love with me."

"Never say never my dear lad."

"We have a four-step-foolproof-plan guaranteed to make Miss Bell fall head over heels in love with you," George says, brandishing a piece of parchment before my eyes.

"Just follow these instructions, and before you can say 'galloping gargoyles'—"

"Your bonny lass will be jumping into your arms and your days of bachelordom will be at an end," Fred folds up the parchment and tucks it into my top pocket, looking rather pleased with himself.

"Why would you two want to help me?" The Weasley twins have never been known for acts of charity.

"Simply for the pleasure of seeing our favourite captain shake off the sexual tension that's been the source of so much pain and torment on the Quidditch pitch," George smirks.

"Oh, and we'll be wanting your firstborn son," Fred adds seriously.

"Wha-what for?"

"He was kidding Wood."

"Ha. Yes. 'Course you were." I knew that.

"Right, Wood, we'd best be off. Kitchens to raid, caretakers to hex, you know the deal," George hoists me out of my seat and the two boys drag me to the door.

"But what if it doesn't work? What if Katie doesn't fall for me?" I ask as they wrench open the door, glancing left and right to check that the corridor is clear.

Fred eyes me suspiciously. "Are you a unic? I always wondered why you were so reluctant to disrobe in the changerooms."

"No – I – that's neither here nor – of course not!" I splutter indignantly. "But what if the plan fails?"

Fred and George regard me solemnly, before pushing me out the door and heading down the corridor.

"If the plan fails, Oliver," George calls softly. "Then we'll help you find a nice dungeon."

I stand in front of the door with my wand held aloft, and glance at my watch. 9.30.

I feel something furry at me feet and look down into the glowing, lamp-like eyes of Mrs Norris. She mews once, then louder, and I hear the shuffling footsteps of Filch.

Oh, boy.

"Who's there my precious?" Filch is getting closer. I decide to make a dash for it.

"Meeow, _meow_," the stupid cat chases after me, as I race down the corridor and wrench open a door pretending to be part of the wall, throwing myself into the hidden cupboard as Mrs Norris claws uselessly at the brick.

_Stupid twins,__if I get a detention I'll use their heads as Quaffles next Quidditch __practice_

But Filch shuffles past my wall-door and I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm rather too scared to try and make my way back to the dorms tonight, so I decide to make myself as comfortable as I can in my cramped cupboard.

Before I try to sleep I unfold the piece of paper in my pocket, mutter "Lumos!" and read the first line.

'Step one: Stalk her to find out as much as you can about her, and impress her with your knowledge of her innermost secrets.'

Oh, boy…

* * *

_I dream of being chased by a giant rosebush, I climb through the Gryffindor portrait-hole to escape and Katie Bell appears, crying about how I drowned Mrs Norris in a dungeon._

"_She was my only real friend!" Katie yells, pointing her finger at me. "Why did you have to be so cruel?"_

"_But I didn't—"_

"_There's no use denying it Wood, you wrote it all down," George tells me, waving a bit or parchment in my face. "Here's your four-step-foolproof-plan of how to murder a cat."_

"_But wait, that's not my writing—"_

_There's a crash and the portrait hole opens again, the rosebush is waving it's branches menacingly at me._

"_Wood! Wood?"_

_The rosebush sounds oddly like Professor McGonagall._

"_No, someone save me from the carnivorous roses!" I yell, my arms flailing wildly._

"_Wood stop babbling!"_

_The rosebush approaches, grabbing me with a surprisingly humanlike branch and shaking me roughly._

"AAAAAAAARGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!"

I open my eyes and it's broad daylight, Professor McGonagall is bending over me, looking at me sternly over her glasses.

"Oh, Professor, sorry, just having a bad dream," I explain, picking myself up from my uncomfortable position and promptly falling over due to my dead legs.

"Where you _sleeping _in this cupboard all night, Mr Wood?" Professor McGonagall asks sternly.

"I – er – got lost on my way back from Quidditch training, Professor."

I attempt to get up again and fall down once more.

"Well I hope you don't make a habit of it, Mr Wood," McGonagall reproaches, sweeping off down the hall.

"Will somebody help me up?" I call feebly into the now-crowded corridor. "Anyone? Yes? No, I didn't think so."

I close my eyes as a stampede of students rush past me to breakfast and begin the long wait for my limbs to regain consciousness.

* * *

**A/N: So, was it up to standard? Let me know how you feel, and feel free to give suggestions or tips as to where you'd like this to head :)**

**Funsize xx  
**


	10. Step One and A Whole Lot of Anger

**It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent**

**Disclaimer: I don't own this. I know, that wasn't as interesting as I usually try and make my disclaimers. I just felt like being boring and normal.  
**

**A/N: You didn't have to wait so long for this update, did you? Unfortunately term starts on Tuesday so I'm not sure how long it will be until the next chapter, but hopefully it will only be a few weeks at the most. Thank you so much to _sweetblonde15, Witch Tekamika, Lady Catriona-Arre _and _lemonicelolly_ for reviewing the last chapter, and to all my other reviewers of past chapters. And to those of you who read & don't review, please consider reviewing because it gives me a sense of purpose & keeps me on track :)**

**And that's enough from me, enjoy!  
**

* * *

_Previously, in _It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent:

"AAAAAAAARGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!"

I open my eyes and it's broad daylight, Professor McGonagall is bending over me, looking at me sternly over her glasses.

"Oh, Professor, sorry, just having a bad dream," I explain, picking myself up from my uncomfortable position and promptly falling over due to my dead legs.

"Where you sleeping in this cupboard all night, Mr Wood?" Professor McGonagall asks sternly.

"I – er – got lost on my way back from Quidditch training, Professor."

I attempt to get up again and fall down once more.

"Well I hope you don't make a habit of it, Mr Wood," McGonagall reproaches, sweeping off down the hall.

"Will somebody help me up?" I call feebly into the now-crowded corridor. "Anyone? Yes? No, I didn't think so."

I close my eyes as a stampede of students rush past me to breakfast and begin the long wait for my limbs to regain consciousness.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Step One ****and a Whole Lot of Anger**

_**Katie:**_

As I sit down at breakfast, buttering my toast and pondering my odd dreams last night (in which Mrs Norris featured as my best friend), I glance up at the Ravenclaw table and see Roger Davies greet Felicity Chambers with a good-morning-tongue-down-your-throat-kiss and I stab my toast moodily.

"What's got your robes in a twist, Katie?" Angelina asks, plunking herself down on my right.

"Boys," I mutter mutinously, tearing at my toast like it's Roger's throat.

"Ohh," Alicia sighs dreamily from my left, staring at George as he attempts to eat what must be an entire litter of pigs in the form of bacon.

I make a disgusted noise and drink my pumpkin juice.

"What's wrong with boys?" Angelina asks vaguely, drizzling maple syrup on her plate of pancakes.

"Boys are _disgusting. _When they're born they get doted on and think they are superior to girls, when they go to school they cheat and lie and have no thought for anybody's feelings, and when they grow up they shirk responsibility and start the whole cycle again by fathering a stupid boy."

"Not _all _boys are disgusting," Alicia says with the same dazed look, clearly of the mind that her boyfriend was not one of the 'disgusting' boys.

I shoot her a look that could freeze Firewhiskey and she corrects herself immediately.

"No, you're right, boys are disgusting, dirty, vile and loathsome and we should all swear ourselves to a lifetime of abstinence and violence towards the male species."

* * *

I'm on my way to History of Magic in a slightly more cheerful mood when I trip over a rather inconveniently-placed corpse and find myself sprawled on the floor, my books flying everywhere. As I attempt to stand up I recognise said corpse to be my late-Quidditch-captain.

"Bloody hell Wood, couldn't you find a more suitable place to die rather than the middle of a busy corridor!" I yell, pointing my wand and shouting 'Accio' at all my possessions.

Wood's corpse grunts and opens its eyes and I yelp in surprise.

"You're not dead?"

"You don't sound too happy about it," Wood grumbles, sitting up to rub his legs.

"Well what were you doing pretending to be dead in the middle of the corridor?"

He's even more nuts than I remember.

"I wasn't pretending to be dead, I was resting whilst I waited for my legs to regain – oh, never mind," he seems to lose track of where his story was going.

"Oh, sorry," I apologise, having aimed wildly at my last book, resulting in a surprised first-year zooming into me, knocking me back down next to Wood.

"What've you got there?" I ask Oliver, who is reading a scrap of parchment with deep concentration.

"Oh, just er, my plan to kill Mrs Norris," he mutters vaguely, stuffing the parchment into his pocket.

"Ah, so you did want to kill my best friend! See, I'm not a lunatic!" I proclaim, having proof that my odd nightmares are not just the result of an overworked imagination.

"You might not want to declare your sanity whilst lying in the middle of a corridor hugging a first-year in your arms," Oliver advises, getting to his feet and brushing himself off.

With another muttered apology I let go of the first-year, who runs away so quickly you'd think she'd been summoned by someone else.

"Like you're one to talk!" I yell, scrabbling for my books and jumping up to follow him down the corridor. "Pretending you're dead, plotting to kill my friend, disappearing into bushes…trying on your sister's dress robes!" I made that last one up because I was running out of steam, but Oliver turned bright red.

"That was once, and I was only ten…twelve…fifteen – but that's beside the point! You're the one whose best friend is the caretaker's cat!" he yells, pointing at me like being best friends with a cat is a crime.

"IT WAS ONLY A DREAM!" I yell, half to convince myself, and storm off in the opposite direction.

I turn around after a few steps and march haughtily back towards him. "Actually, I was going this way," I muster a dignified glare and decide to go straight to my History of Magic class before something else happens.

* * *

History of Magic is probably the best class in which to do whatever you fancy, as Professor Binns is quite content to drone on to himself even in the midst of a full-blown riot (as happened last year when Cormac McLaggen decided to eat a pound of Doxy eggs for ten galleons). Today I was discussing my completely insane life with Leanne, a girl in my year who I don't often talk to because she's particularly dim-witted.

"So your mum went out with Oliver Wood's cousin, then—"

"Cousin-in-law," I correct. "Then she met my dad, who had been stalking her since the start of Christmas break—"

"Hang on, how could she meet your dad fourteen years after he gave birth to you?"

"Well obviously she had met him before. No, she ran into him again after Christmas—"

"Ouch," Leanne winces. "Did it hurt?"

"Huh?"

"Running into your dad! How much does he weigh?"

"Not like _that _you dolt, she reacquainted herself with him after Christmas and he convinced her to break up with Mr Matthews—"

"Who?"

"Oliver's cousin-in-law. And _then _he came over to my house whereby I was fed a tale of heartache and misfortune and expected to embrace this green-eyed, brown-haired, devilishly handsome man as my father."

"But, he _is _your father," Leanne points out rather stupidly.

"That's not the _point_ Leanne, the point is that he's a lowdown, pathetic, vile—Oliver?"

"What? Your father is _Oliver_?"

As anybody with half a brain would know, my father is not Oliver, and my motive for thus exclaiming his name is because I have just looked under my desk and for some unknown reason, Oliver Wood is crouching underneath it, a quill between his teeth and a look of pleading ignorance on his face.

"What are you doing under my desk Oliver?" I ask whilst Leanne mutters a soft "oh!" of understanding.

"Er, I'm just a figment of your imagination?"

"No, he's not Katie! I can see him too!" Leanne cries, pointing her wand at Wood as if I were about to believe his feeble lie.

"Oliver, what are you _really _doing under my table?"

"Er…doing a survey?"

"Survey?"

"Yes, of the underside of desks, you know. It's to see which flavour Droobles are most commonly placed on the underneath of desks. Now this desk has two 'Gruesome Grape' and one 'Terrifying Tiramisu', so that brings it up to—"

He begins scribbling on his parchment and then makes to stand up, forgetting he is directly underneath my table.

"OUCH!"

He sort of crawls out and backs away from my desk, bumping into Leanne and sending her flying on top of him. Managing to extricate himself with considerable difficulty, he flings Leanne rolling under her desk and he hurries to the door, muttering to himself about stupid twins and crazy plans.

"Oh, no, Leanne, _don't,_" I plead, as she lifts her hand to the underside of her table.

"Mmm, _'Bloodthirsty Blueberry'_."

Yuck.

* * *

_**Oliver:**_

I'll admit that my plan didn't really get off to the perfect start. For one, I once again found myself in a position of extreme discomfort and pain, and for another, all I managed to eavesdrop on was The Return of Katie Bell's Vile and Loathsome Father, Part Seventy-Four.

The thing is, it's extremely difficult to stalk someone who is in a different year, and therefore with a completely different timetable to you. It was lucky I had a free period during her History of Magic class, but whilst I'm sitting here in Transfiguration, god only knows where—

"Mr Wood I am not going to ask you again!" McGonagall eyes me beadily.

"That would be a good idea Professor as I don't think I know the answer," I reply honestly.

I return my gaze to the scrap of parchment in my hand, wondering how on earth I'm supposed to stalk Katie for the rest of the day without her knowing it.

And then I come up with a brilliant solution.

* * *

"…you know, Katie, I really think you should rethink it, I mean he's such a catch."

"Alicia? 'Such a catch'? Who says that? Anyway, I've made up my mind, I'm not going out with him!"

I almost fall out of my hiding place – the large birch tree that Katie and her friends are lying under – in surprise. Katie was thinking of going out with me?

"Come on Katie, if I wasn't going out with Fred I'd be completely jealous!" Angelina cries out, and I blush a little. I didn't realise I was that fancy-able!

My brilliant solution to stalking Katie Bell came in the form of Potter's Invisibility Cloak, that he once lent me (er, I once stole off him) in order to spy on the Slytherin team's training when I was convinced they were jinxing the Bludgers. Anyway, I cornered Potter after my Transfiguration lesson and – persuaded – him to lend me the cloak, and now here I am, seven feet above the ground, crouched between two very unstable branches, spying on my lovely Katie during her lunch break.

"…and how many girls do you think he actually asks out? You've got to be pretty lucky, admit it."

Hang on, I never asked Katie out, did I? Unless she's counting that time last week when I tripped over her leg at breakfast and fell face-first into her pancakes and then offered to buy her pancakes at a later date…come to think of it that must be it!

"Alright, the guy is incredibly good-looking, will most probably become a professional Quidditch player and has a reputation of being an incredibly good snog—"

Gosh, people really think all that stuff about me?

"…But I just wouldn't feel right dating him."

"Why?" Alicia asks incredulously.

Yeah, why, Katie?

"Well, after that awful date with Roger I hardly need another egotistical Quidditch player who's going to ditch me after one date."

Then two things happen at once:

My foot slips on my cloak, causing me to lose my balance and flail wildly between two branches, and Angelina says "Cedric wouldn't ditch you after one date."

"WWHHAA-AAAAAAARGGHHHHHH!!"

Thud.

That's the sound of me falling out of the tree, Potter's cloak wrapped around my upper body and face, and crashing down onto the roots below me. Oh, and we won't forget the combined sound of Katie, Alicia and Angelina shrieking in fright as they witness a pair of legs writhing in agony two feet away from them.

"What is that?" Alicia whispers as I struggle with the cloak which is in the process of choking me. I finally extricate my head from the stupid thing and the girls start screaming again.

"Oliver?"

"Oh, hello Katie, Alicia, Angelina," I manage to twist into a sitting-up position and smile painfully at the three shocked faces in front of me.

"Oliver, what in Merlin's name are you doing?" Katie asks, her eyes narrowing.

"Er, well, you see, I'm doing a survey on the trees at Hogwarts and I –"

"Oliver Wood HAVE YOU BEEN STALKING ME?" Katie bellows, standing up and towering over me, her eyes now mismatched slits of fury.

I decide to opt for honesty.

"Well…no." Alright, I'm a chicken.

"It certainly looks like you've been stalking me; turning up in my classroom under my desk, falling out of trees under which I'm talking with my friend, invisible at that."

"Well, when you put it like that…"

"Why are you following me Oliver?" Katie asks in exasperation, and I cleverly opt for dishonesty.

"The thing is, well, I don't feel that you've been putting one hundred per cent into training recently and I wanted to make sure you didn't have any distractions."

"What?! I scored forty-five goals out of fifty against you last training session!" Katie screams, pointing her wand at me angrily.

"Exactly, it should have been fifty!" I yell back at her. I'm backed against the tree trunk with no escape route and I figure my only choice is to make her feel guilty and run.

"Well of course I have distractions; in case you haven't noticed Wood my father—"

"Yes, your father's back, you're not talking to your mum, I've heard it a hundred times Katie. You know what, maybe instead of going over and over the same story, maybe you should try and talk to your parents and sort this whole thing out. Oh but sorry, I forgot, that would mean you'd have nothing to complain about, and Merlin knows that can't happen!"

For some reason, my fake anger has turned into actual anger and I've stood up and now I'm the one towering over Katie, glaring down at her.

"Wha- that's not – I mean – well that's not all I have to deal with!" Katie splutters, looking at me in shock.

"Oh, what else is there? Too many boys asking you out, Katie? Now that's definitely got to be a difficult distraction to have. No, you know what? You need to just stop acting like a spoilt only child and realise that other people have feelings too, Katie. Until then, don't bother speaking to me."

She backs away, white-faced, and I storm off into the castle, half angry with her and half angry with myself. I don't usually let my personal life affect my life at Hogwarts, but Katie had just made me snap.

I growl at a third-year in my way and continue angrily to Charms.

I can't help thinking that my plans to seduce Katie Bell aren't progressing as I would have hoped.

* * *

**A/N: REVIEW!! please? )**  



	11. Correspondence and Catastrophe

**It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent**

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**Disclaimer: I don't really want to be a billionaire. All I want is a tub of Chocolate Obsession ice-cream and a bunch of British romantic-comedies (the Brit's really do them best). So in other words, I don't own the HP universe.**

**A/N: The end is near! I can feel it! Maybe a chapter or two to go, so keep those reviews coming ) And sorry for this taking longer than expected. I'll go hide in shame now. Enjoy! Oh and sorry if there's any US spelling in here, my stupid laptop automatically changes my spelling and won't stop...  
**

* * *

_In case you forgot where we were:_

_Previously, in _It's Not My Fault I Fell For Your Stupid Accent:_  
_

_For some reason, my fake anger has turned into actual anger and I've stood up and now I'm the one towering over Katie, glaring down at her._

_"Wha- that's not – I mean – well that's not all I have to deal with!" Katie splutters, looking at me in shock._

_"Oh, what else is there? Too many boys asking you out, Katie? Now that's definitely got to be a difficult distraction to have. No, you know what? You need to just stop acting like a spoilt only child and realise that other people have feelings too, Katie. Until then, don't bother speaking to me."_

_She backs away, white-faced, and I storm off into the castle, half angry with her and half angry with myself. I don't usually let my personal life affect my life at Hogwarts, but Katie had just made me snap._

_I growl at a third-year in my way and continue angrily to Charms._

_I can't help thinking that my plans to seduce Katie Bell aren't progressing as I would have hoped._

* * *

**Chapter 1****0: Correspondence and Catastrophe**

_**Katie:**_

_This isn't so hard,_ I think to myself as I sit huddled on my bed. _Just write something for Merlin's sake._

I'm surrounded by crumpled pieces of parchment and broken quill tips and I cannot for the life of me think how to write what I want to say. That for one is a singularity; I can't remember if I've ever been unable to express myself on parchment before. The thing is I also don't think I've ever written someone an apology. How do you write an apology? Somehow _"Dear Mum, I'm sorry for acting like a complete brat"_ just doesn't roll off your quill as easily as you'd think. But what has gotten me most shaken up, the reason everything I write seems incredibly wrong, is that I can't actually believe that I've been accused of being a "spoilt only child" in my entire life. I _hate _that person; the one who has everything they could possibly want and then spends their time complaining about things that really couldn't have been easy on anyone, if they bother to think about anyone else. If I really think about it, would it have been easy for my mum to suddenly come face-to-face with a man who she loved so much? Would it have been easy for my father to approach a woman who had obviously moved on and for him to try and become part of that life and get to know his daughter? The simple answer: no. Oliver was right; I've been being petty, childish and bratty. Yet I just don't know how to say sorry.

"Katie? Katie you've already missed Herbology and I really don't think McGonagall will be too impressed if she finds out you've skipped class to write your mum a letter."

"Frick!" I stab my last remaining piece of clean parchment with my quill and jump off my bed, hurryingly grabbing the closest assortment of books I can find and slipping my feet into a pair of shoes as I prepare to run down the stairs. Obviously, due to my already clumsy nature, this results in me tumbling down the staircase. My butt hits each step with ever-increasing pain and my books fly in front of me so I land on the ground as a tangled mess of limbs jutting into sharp corners.

"Okay, I said _Transfiguration_, not _hospital wing_ Katie," Leanne complains as I feebly get to my feet.

"Am I selfish, Leanne?" I ask as we exit the Common Room, rubbing my aching rear.

"Well—"

"Don't answer that," I cut her off. Great; I'm selfish. How am I supposed to be less selfish?

"How are you, Leanne?" I ask, feeling pretty proud of myself. That's unselfish right? Not quite self_less _but it's a start. In fact it would be quite easy to stop being selfish; all I have to do is keep asking people how they are. Oh, and I should probably listen afterwards.

"…so I'm alright, I guess," Leanne finishes as we make our way into the classroom. Perfect timing; I didn't have to listen to a word she said and I appeared to be truly interested in what she had to say. Whoops, that probably defeats the purpose of asking the question but at least I _appeared _concerned.

"Miss Bell, Miss Jones, why are you ten minutes late to my class?" Professor McGonagall stares sternly through her glasses at us as I realise that the rest of the class are already seated and are in the process of turning mice into mittens.

"Oh, Professor, it's my fault, you see I was—" I pause on the threshold of relaying the cause of our delay and then stop. It would be selfish to dwell on my personal problems that made us late. "Well Professor," I rephrase with an apologetic smile. "Leanne here was just telling me about how she was feeling, and you know how important it is to listen to your friends."

McGonagall's pursed lips tightened.

"Miss Jones, learn how to curb your tongue. Miss Bell, take your seat."

See? I'm learning.

* * *

Professor Binns is droning on about goblin wars in the 4th Century, my stomach is complaining about missing breakfast, and I decide to try my hand at that letter for the thirty-fifth time. 

Just as the rest of the class begins to awake from their hour-long snooze, I mark my last full-stop and then glance over my handiwork. It's not the most earth-shattering letter I've written, but it's the best I'll do under the circumstances:

'_Dear Mum (and Derrick)_

_Firstly I want to apologise to both of you for being so difficult. I know I must have upset both of you (especially you, Mum) because of the way I've been acting, but I didn't mean to. Okay, that's a lie; I meant to upset you a little bit. But the thing is, I was upset, and when you're upset you do stupid things. I want you both to know that I was never really that angry that you (Derrick) came back. You're my father and I've always secretly had this desire to meet you, but then I think I've always secretly wanted to kick you (hard) in the groin, too. And Mum, it really hurt me that you had been talking to my Dad and you hadn't said a thing to me about it. I get now that you probably didn't want to upset me for no reason, but we've always told each other everything and I felt like things were changing. And it's always just been the two of us and I felt like, when it came down to it, I'd rather it just be the two of us than know my father. _

_But I've had time to think things over and, with the help of a person I would never have thought would actually say something worthwhile, I've realised how stupid I've been acting. Even if you (Derrick) hadn't come back, things would have changed between my mum and me and I should have realised that. And I really would like to get to know you, as my father._

_Well History of Magic is over so I should probably end this letter here._

_Love Katie_

_P.S. You have no idea how hard it is to write a letter to two people, I hope it makes sense.'_

I follow the rest of the class out of our room but, rather than make the dash to the Great Hall for lunch, I shove my books on Leanne (who, now unable to see, promptly knocks over a suit of armour that begins to berate her in a thick Irish accent) and make my way up to the Owlery. Now that I've written the letter I want to send it as soon as I can, before I can read over it and suddenly decide that I really _do _hate Derrick.

I open the door to the Owlery and scan the dark room for Mistoffelees, my black-capped Screech owl. Yes, it's a stupid name, but I was eleven when I named her, and still wished for my dad to come back every day. Mr Mistoffelees was the name of a little, black cat in a book of poems that I found in my mum's drawer, hidden in a shoe-box with a bunch of other books that were too long and complicated for my young mind to appreciate. But the pretty book, _Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats_ had struck my imagination, and I hid it under my bed, pulling it out every night and poring over the adventures of The Rum Tum Tugger, the fiendish MacCavity, and of course, the magical Mr Mistoffelees. Even after I began to resent my unknown father, I kept the book and the name, and I guess Mistoffelees has been the one thing stopping me from completely hating the man who left my mum.

"Mistoffelees," I whisper, not being able to spot her small, dark shape amongst the restive shadow.

"Mistoffelees," I call again, and I hear a soft hoot and a flap of wings, and a black owl lands gently on my outstretched arm. I move over to the windowsill and she hops off my arm and holds her leg out so that I can tie the scroll onto her leg.

"You take this to Mum, okay," I say as I secure the letter. "And stay there until she replies, but no pecking, alright?"

Mistoffelees blinks her large eyes slowly as if to say that she understands, and I stroke her gently before she takes off.

The Owlery door opens once more, letting in a shaft of daylight into the gloomy room, and for a moment I can't make out the figure in the doorway but as he closes the door I say "Oh."

I haven't spoken to Oliver since he shouted at me, and to be perfectly honest, I'm not too keen to begin right now. It's not that I'm angry with him for what he said; it's more that I'm confused by what it made me feel. Sure I can understand being shocked by what he said, upset as I realised how right he was, and maybe a little annoyed that he shouted at me, but that's not how I have been feeling for the past few days. Instead, when I try to get to sleep at night, all I can think of is the fact that Oliver Wood thinks badly of me. His words, "_don't bother speaking to me_" have been playing over-and-over in my head, and at the sight of him they seem to be getting louder.

Well he certainly doesn't have to worry about me speaking because my tongue seems to be stuck to the roof of my mouth for the eternity that we both stand there frozen. What seems like an eternity to me must have only been a few seconds though because before I know it, Oliver is walking briskly to the other end of the Owlery as if I don't exist, as if he had never seen me. I run out the door and down the steps before I can try to figure out why I'm so close to tears.

* * *

_**Oliver:**_

Since the first part of Fred and George's foolproof plan failed, I naturally moved onto part two whilst I was still fuming in Charms that same afternoon. I had pulled out the already-crumpled piece of parchment that the twins had bestowed upon me and put a neat line through the first step, glancing down at the line underneath it;

_'Step two: Ignore her. Play hard-to-get and she will start to miss the attention you gave her whilst you were stalking her and will fall madly in love with you.'_

Ignore her? That's been easy. See, ever since I blew up at her, I've been feeling like the world's biggest prat, and the look on her face has been etched into my head like a form of punishment. I've been feeling so awful that I actually decided to call on the one person who will be able to help me, even if it means I will never live it down. I look down at the piece of parchment that was folded neatly in my hand, and realise it is now scrunched into a tight ball. Great, that's what you get when you run into the girl you like and don't know what to say. Yes, Katie caught me by surprise in the Owlery and all I could do was stand there and stare blankly (and apparently scrunch up my letter) before she ran out of the room.

I carefully smooth out the parchment and look over it:

_'Veronica_

_I need your help. It's about a girl (yes, proof once & for all that I am __not__ gay). Anyway, I've completely screwed things up…actually there wasn't really anything to screw up in the first place, but I've almost ruined the possibility of 'things' ever happening._

_And you can laugh at me all you want; I don't give a hoot as long as you help me do _something _right with this girl._

_Love, Oliver'_

I fold the parchment and then tap it with my wand; it rolls into a scroll and seals itself seamlessly. I let out a whistle, and with a ruffle of feathers, Hemingway swoops onto my arm, digging his claws in gently as a form of greeting.

"Hey old boy," I say, tying the scroll onto his leg. "You take this to my sister, alright?"

As he soars out into the sky my stomach ties into knots. Somehow I'm not even sure if Veronica can help a disaster like me.

* * *

To my relief, my breakfast the following morning is interrupted by my tawny owl who, after losing his footing on the edge of my plate, tumbles headfirst into Fred Weasley's pumpkin juice, the letter thankfully still attached to his leg, which is flailing madly as Fred looks on in disgust. 

"What do we have here?" he asks, gingerly picking Hemingway up by his leg and dangling my poor bird in front of his face.

"Oi, put him down, Fred," I say angrily as Hemingway hoots with a dazed expression.

"Oh, you can have the bird," Fred answers, handing Hemingway to me. I am in such a state making sure that he hasn't got brain damage (can owls get brain damage?) that I don't realise I'm missing something until—

"Who's 'Veronica'?"

Oh crud.

"Hey George, our Oliver has a secret lover called 'Veronica'!" Fred yells to his brother, who is unfortunately several seats down, so half the Gryffindor table gets to hear this (totally untrue and disgustingly incestuous) comment. I hear a loud smash and see Katie staring at me, white-faced, her goblet sending a cascade of orange liquid down the table.

"Give that here," I snarl, making a snatch for the letter, but Fred is too quick.

"Uh-uh, not until you tell me who Veronica is and why you're writing to her about—"

He glances down at the parchment and I realise that he hasn't actually read the letter. When he does, a faint look of dawning understanding spreads over his face, his mouth forming a comical 'O'.

"Yes, so hand it over," I growl, and he hands me the parchment wordlessly.

My chair scrapes harshly across the stone floor as I get up, swinging my bag across my shoulders and stomping off, thirty minutes early, to Herbology.

* * *

Not even Professor Sprout is in the greenhouses this early, so I take a seat on the lawn and glance down at the sheet of parchment in my hand. 

_'Dear Oliver,_

_So it takes girl troubles for you to take the time to write to me, does it? Ha, it's alright, I've been too busy with little Angie (you missed her second birthday you awful boy) to really keep in touch. But honestly, I thought if you ever wrote to me it would be asking me how best to break it to the parents that you would like to settle down with a nice young man!_

_Okay, I'll stop teasing you about your late blooming and get down to it. First of all, who's the girl? Knowing you, she's well above your league…Let me guess…oh I bet it's that girl James was telling me about, the one whose mum he was dating? He said you were quite smitten. Well I don't know what you've done to screw it up, but there's only one thing that will ever get the girl. I mean, you can't have her if she doesn't know you want her, can you? And she won't know unless you tell her, because girls second guess EVERYTHING. So whatever you did, just apologise, and explain yourself, and tell her you want to spend the rest of your life holding her in your scrawny arms and staying up late reading the latest issue of _Which Broomstick.

_Hope I've helped you. Merlin knows you need all the help you can get with the ladies._

_Love you little bro'_

_Veronica xoxo'_

Right. I fold the letter up and place it alongside the twins' 'foolproof' plan in my front pocket. Who do I listen to; two stupid red-heads or my twenty-seven year-old, worldly-wise, happily-married sister?

"Ahem."

I look up hastily, and squint up at the small, rather nervous-looking figure of Katie Bell.

"Oh, Katie." It comes out kind of dully, so I try make up for it with a smile, but with the sun in my eyes it probably looks more like a grimace.

"Um, I just…well Angelina wouldn't tell you for me, nor would Alicia, or Fred or George…or even Harry…er, but I won't be at Quidditch practice today if that's alright…"

She tapers off and stands there chewing on her bottom lip, afraid to look me in the eye.

"Er, sure, that's fine. Listen, Katie, there's something I wanted to talk to you about—"

She looks up, her eyes shining brightly, and my mouth goes dry.

"The reason I've been acting so odd lately, and shouting at you, and then not talking to you, and then that letter…Well, I want to apologise for all of it."

Instead of grinning broadly or flinging her arms around me, or kissing me passionately, her face becomes blank.

"The letter?" she repeats.

"Fred is an idiot. The letter is personal, it's—"

"No, don't answer me, it was stupid. It's none of my business who you…I- I mean, I think I should go," she turns slowly, the brightness in her eyes long gone, and I jump to my feet, grabbing her arm.

"Katie—"

She turns to me fiercely.

"No. It was stupid. It was just stupid," she sobs, pulling free of my grasp and running back in the direction of the castle.

I groan and cover my face with my hands. First the twins screw me over, and now even Veronica's advice doesn't work. If I'm ever going to get Katie Bell, I'm going to have to do it by myself. Ha! Me, getting a girl by myself?

Yeah. I'm screwed.

* * *

**A/N: Review?**


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